A Hopeful Light from Under the Door
by BurnTheBluestSkies
Summary: Cowardice is something Luck Gandor and Alia Zabbo both practice professionally, but protest is the first piece of progress. Luck and OC pairing.
1. A Tortoise on Busy City Roads

**A/N:** This is going to be the first successful story I've posted here! As with every fanfiction, you know the drill. I don't own Baccano!, but I enjoyed the series, created some characters, and a scenario, and enjoyed it. I'm aware that this is a somewhat small fandom, but again, I had fun with this. This is intended for my own entertainment seeing as I don't expect many people to read this.

But, if you are reading, I'd like to assure you not to worry about updates. I've written this entire thing already. It's 142 (scratch that, 143) quick-and-dirty chapters (though they're really scenes) long, so I'll be posting two of them each day. This will be finished to you guys in July—Friday the 27th, according to this date calculator.

If you find any mistakes, let me know, or if you find anything about characters or the way I write annoying. I probably won't fix the characters or writing within the story since it's done and all, but it's great for future reference. Anyhow, I will turn you loose to read now! I hope you enjoy it!

**Also: **I've added the playlist I frequently listened to for inspiration specifically on this story. Most of these pieces will fit characters, situations, relationships, and things of those like. I chose the music based on lyrics (when there are lyrics) and my own taste. I can't guarantee you'll enjoy it. Here it is: youtube(.com)/playlist?list=PLFAC4AE0CB9E8A929&feature=plcp (It takes me forever to get these URLs to work and then I'm just sitting here trying to fix it so no one has to see how much of an idiot I am.)

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Actions slipped out from under her record. Where events had begun, no one could tell. It could be traced back to the boredom of one being that nobody knew, or to her wish to rise to social normalcy in a place she didn't understand. The ending was terrible, and beginning again had her pace at an uneven stagger. All the same. That was her way to shrug it off when it was no longer necessary to think about then.

All the same.

Back then, though now considered only history, nothing was the same. Things changed at overwhelming speeds to her tortoise velocity of living. She became unemployed before she could even spell the word, though with her poor skills in written English, there was quite an amount of time allotted to her withdrawal from occupation and home.

There was no place for her to stay. The process of finding one was a redundant friend-of-friend cycle. She found temporary living in the office of a Camorrista named Ronnie Sukiart, in the hideout of the family he worked under- Martillo. While the people were all good and friendly, she could not help but feel underfoot and parasitic.

Ronnie spoke with many of the other members, and acquaintances and connections, for housing at a longer term, with no success for weeks.

"I've only got a few more people that haven't been asked to make room for you," Ronnie said near the draw of her stay. "After that, I'll find a place for you in my home, or will rent an apartment for you until you have work."

"You really should not trouble yourself this way," Alia responded apologetically, standing from the place she had been sitting for the greater part of her stay. "My mistakes and hardships should never have been pressed onto you."

"Nonsense; it's no trouble at all. Sudko is a close friend of mine. Nature wouldn't have it any way but for me to help a friend of his." Sudko Dods had been her partner in working in a shoeshine shop.

"Then you have assured me he keeps good friends," she surrendered, her smile friendly but her eyes still arguing. Ronnie smiled back politely before dialing a number, and nodding for her to sit again.

"Hello. Yeah, it's me. Word probably got to you already, but a friend of mine, Alia Zabbo, is in need of shelter and occupation. If you could give her a home and a job, she and I both would be very grateful." There were pauses for replies she couldn't hear. "Just until she's able to find other arrangements... With the way her circumstances have been as of late, I'm sure that your couch will be heaven to her."

With a few more words, the call was concluded. "We've got our man." He held out his hand to help her stand, Alia immediately packing a few loose things into her suitcase of belongings- ties and other things she had left out. "I'll be taking you to one of the Gandor hideouts. You may want to have supper first."


	2. Eighteen of a Time Unit

Ronnie escorted her to the restaurant segment of the hideout and fed her before walking her outside. It was dark from the fast-approaching winter, making her slightly nervous to walk the streets, even with company. Then again, she was always nervous to walk the streets. She still had to become accustomed to the new freedom that had caused her to lose her need for the shop as a source of protection.

"When we get there, hand the man this note and sit down. You'll be introduced by your latest landlord. Speaking isn't necessary- You'll only be a distraction." Alia nodded in return.

"Thank you so much for doing this. I really am terrible finding my way through society alone."

"It was a pleasure meeting you," he said, finally stopping in an obscure alley and releasing her arm. "This is where I shall leave you. That door right there will lead you into the hideout. Be safe." She nodded once more, beginning to walk toward the indicated door- the dark door hidden in the murky alley of a city whose lights did not touch the ground- jumping, alert, at the sound of her name behind her, and turned around to face Ronnie again. "Luck Gandor is the man you'll be living with. He's an intelligent fellow. You may just learn a few things." Her expression took on an amused questioning before she bade him good bye and entered the building.

The interior was far more refined than she would have thought, pleasingly plain, though she hadn't much time to admire it before interrupted.

"'Scuse me, you got a problem?" Alia opened her mouth to speak but remembered not to. A man stood up and pulled out a chair, motioning with his head for her to sit. She did so.

"Berga, Keith, this is Alia Zabbo. I'm going to be giving her shelter and working out an occupation for her," he said, sitting down again. "As I was saying, the casino out a couple miles over needs better security.." She pulled away from listening to the conversation quickly, having no real purpose in the matter. The light was warm and orange, making her nerves ease quickly in recovery from the harsh outdoor night. Soon she found herself in a struggle to keep consciousness.

"Luck, you sure you should be housing that girl? Babe can't be older than sixteen."

"It'll be discussed later. Right now it's late," he answered, glancing at her and brushing short copper strands out of her face to wake her from her half sleep. "Think you can walk a few blocks?" She nodded in reply and stood with him, letting him take her arm and escort her with farewell to his brothers.

"What is your age, since it was brought up?"

"I am eighteen."


	3. Placement of Guest and Host

She set her suitcase down, removed her shoes and hat, and examined the immediate interior of the place. It was plain as well, the walls bare but for a few family pictures, and rooms with furnishings of sensible price and quality.

"Have you had supper?"

"Yes."

"Would you sit with me anyway?" he asked.

"I would be delighted to," she answered, following him to a dining room and sitting at the table until he returned from the kitchen with a sandwich. He took a bite from it, lifting a book to read with his free hand.

"Do you really want to get involved with swine?" asked Luck after swallowing his food.

"You calling your organization that gives the impression you do not want to be in your own business." Alia chuckled. "I am comfortable with the organizations, whether human or pig."

"It's simply a shame," he shook his head and ingested another bite. "A lady in contact with people like us."

"I have never held the title 'proper lady,'" she confessed. "Forgive me if I have surrendered in trying to earn it, and find no consequence in making friends of mafiosi and cammoristi."

"I don't know you or anything about you, but proper or not, you are a lady," the man said. "Try to get away from here as soon as you can."

"Thank you for your advice, sir," she allowed him to eat his sandwich in silence, looking up at the wall behind him. Finding it bare, she examined all the others, only to see that they too were without decoration.

"Is there something you find the matter with this room, Miss Zabbo?"

"Nothing that cannot be quickly fixed," she answered, her voice slow and monotone. "Would you please lend me your wrists?" Reluctantly, he put out his wrists for her to see, and she lifted the sleeves to find a watch on one of them. "I never remember on which wrist a watch belongs. It depends on the dominant hand, however, so even if I had remembered, I would not have been able to tell where you wore yours." The face of his watch blurted twelve thirty before she put it down. "What time do you wake up in the morning?"

"Five, usually."

"Is this a regular night for you?"

"More or less, yes."

"That cannot be healthy." Alia furrowed her brow. "You should go to sleep soon."

"You seem to be more tired than I am," he stood, returning his dish to the kitchen and picking up the woman's suitcase as he beckoned her to follow. Up a narrow flight of stairs, he led her to a bedroom. "This is where you should be sleeping." She opened the door and peeked into the room, noting that it was tidy, but looked used.

"This is your bedroom," she said, looking across the hallway at a door. "What is in that room?"

"My study. You'll have that when I rearrange it. Until then, you have my room."

"And where shall you be sleeping?"

"In the living room."

"I will not allow it." She shook her head and pouted. "Take your room and I will sleep on the couch."

"You are a guest to me. I would never have a guest sleeping on the couch." Luck sighed as the short woman stood akimbo by her argument. "I can assure you that you will be doubly uncomfortable as you will be alone in that bed if I am beside you in it." His foot tapped as she thought it over. "We could argue over this until we're meant to wake up."

"I think you would be more uncomfortable with it than I would," she said, walking into the room. "I still refuse to run you out of your own place." As she removed her tie and dress, left in a button up shirt and step-ins, she climbed into the bed. Luck stripped down to a similar shirt of his size and boxer shorts, sliding her over to the other side of the bed and claiming his side. "Thank you for allowing me shelter. It seems knowing one person is much like knowing everyone."

"It really is," Luck confirmed. "All a lady needs is one man to dote on her and the rest of the gang will treat her with kindness."

"I should try not to ruin that. Goodnight, Luck Gandor." Before long, the man was asleep.


	4. If Ruining, Nonsensical

He woke up without her beside him, walking down the stairs to find her on the couch, a music box open on her stomach. Whether she had left at some unknown time in order to disobey his request to sleep in the bed, or to be alone, he did not know, but rather than question it in his mind, he woke her up by winding the key and releasing it. At first her breathing only became frustrated, until she opened her eyes with a sullen dip in her brow.

"You have ruined my morning." Alia swatted him further from her and sat upright, closing the box and undergoing her ritual pandiculation.

"I apologize, though I might ask why you play the music box if it's ruining."

"It is a matter of company. I dislike being ruined before others." Adding little height to her, she stood, taking the music box with her up the staircase and to the bedroom, dressed for the day when she returned. "Even things as small and socially insubstantial as I am have pride, and often just as much, if not more than people of high standing in society, we have secrets. Secrets are a food of pride- ones that bring you shame are far more likely to be strongly guarded by a person's pride which then thrives and grows off of it."

"You're ashamed to listen to a box at night?" The woman smiled.

"I would tell you what about doing so brings me shame, but it is secret, after all. Perhaps I have indecent thoughts of the composer whose piece was put in the box."

"As you already said it was a secret, I highly doubt you think erotically toward Chopin."

"He did not look terrible as a young man," while speaking, she chuckled.


	5. A Little Girl and Coat of Hoar Condition

They had eaten breakfast- a plain one, of eggs and toast, but satisfying to the stomach. As he readied himself for the day, she shined his shoes, for lack of better entertainment. She noted the bottoms of them, and how they were worn. Many men had uneven damage to the soles of their shoes, showing they supported too much on one side, or there would be too much damage on either the toes or heels, indicating either bad walking posture or walking habits, or both.

Luck Gandor's shoes, however, were worn nicely, showing his straight posture that was visible and habitual. As he found her in the foyer, he laughed a little.

"Bored?" She nodded, motioning him to come nearer. Doing so, she pulled him to the ground and put the shoes on his feet, then ordered him to stand again before tying the laces. "You got good at that job, huh? How did you lose it?"

"I no longer wanted it," she said. "I am ready for something new. It is time I molted from that grey skin."

"You look to have done so already. You have very vibrant colors to your person," replied Luck.

"You must have yet to complete your own metamorphosis if you cannot see how hoar I am," she said so with a smile she kept most times. Silence was a familiar man in the house, a close friend of them both, sitting with the two for a few minutes over nothing.

"We should be going. Unless you would rather stay home, though that would offer you very little occupation- not that accompanying me would be of much interest, either. What do you wish to do?"

"I should enjoy going along with you. Are you ready?"

"Yes, except that you have no coat."

"I own no coat," she said, shaking her head. "It does not matter. I am not bothered by cold."

"You may not be, but I am," he said, looking in the coat closet and finding a few jackets that would be too cold, and coats that would be too long. "I have this." A brown thing- reminiscent of a trench coat-that would likely run down to her mid-calves was pulled from the closet. "I must have gotten this when I was twelve. It's sort of thin, but it should keep your body heat close," he pulled each sleeve over its respective arm on her and buttoned two of three buttons, the last one up missing. "How is that?"

"It is comfortable." The feel of it on her skin made little difference to her, but it smelled of him, a scent that was very much like a home. The two exited, Silence following.


	6. Like Luck Is

"Alia, would you like to go with Berga to the casino?" Luck must have had things to speak over with Keith. From what she could tell, Keith, as the eldest, was in the highest command among the three. She would be in the way of their business if with them. In his eyes, it seemed she was still a child, needing constant company, and against him, she could not protest. She left him to his talk, allowing Berga to lead her back outside and down more streets after having been whispered an order from Luck.

"That's Luck's old coat."

"Yes. He has lent it to me," she answered, looking up at the tall figure. Of his brothers, he was tallest, but not abnormally. In fact, an old friend of hers was taller, but this man beside her was not spiny like the other, having a wide chest that simply made him seem ten times taller. To her, he was a skyscraper.

"It's like him."

"He is a very polite young man."

"Older than you." She tittered.

"Yes, older than me. Smarter, as well." Her step quickened as she got behind in walking. "More practiced in social normalcy, but I feel great sorrow for him. In fact, if I were such a woman to do so, I would cry for his soul."

"Why is that?"

"He is so porcelain that his face does not move the way his emotions do." Sullenly, she bowed her head as the second brother Gandor laughed heartily.

"I ain't sure how he would argue that," he choked out, finally bringing his cachinnation to a halt. "He might say he just do'n't feel that much, and for the most part, he just do'n't enough to make him act out. There was once he asked me to kill him if he did."

"Hm." She had to think it over. While words seemed always to be kind to her, she often found none quickly while speaking of the minds of other people. Because of this, she was thankful she never met many people, even as much as she enjoyed them- at least, not many that spoke much to her over such subjects. "That makes him all the more tear-worthy."

"You cry often?"

"I only have once, actually."

"Then you're a lot like how Luck is these days."


	7. Ten in His Perspective

When Luck arrived to retrieve her from the gambling establishment, he found her standing near a wall- decidedly the most comfortable place for those who are easily lost in large crowds- beside Berga and attempting to smoke a pipe. Berga himself was puffing from a cigar.

"Is the magic trick you're teaching her how to turn her lungs to raisins?"

"Only the cigarettes were gonna do that. You shoulda seen her face when she tasted it, but she's learned she likes cloves in her tobacco."

"Young ladies such as she shouldn't be even near tobacco." Luck took the pipe from her.

"Now, I was rather enjoying myself. Why is it that a woman is not permitted to enjoy herself simply because a man is not enjoying himself at a particular time? Have a drink, sip a pipe, let me give you a massage."

"It's a pity when girls and boys of your age believe they are adults." She laughed for a considerable duration.

"You are hilarious."

"Was there Turkish in any of that?" His brother shook his head, and Luck looked back to the girl. "I don't see what you find so amusing."

"Your concern is what I laugh at," said girl confessed. "You have just now admitted that you look to me as though I am a child. If I stand on a chair, should you think me a woman? Is it my height? I think you are just too tall and too serious. Berga, here, laughs at me. He sees that I am a ridiculous creature and takes his right to be amused, but not Mister Luck Gandor. Oh, no, to you, I must be proper. Never in a hundred years will I be proper."

"Alia." His look was stern, and she shortened the ends of her smile in response. "Did you drink?"

"No," she said promptly. "You see, I am having fun, and you are jealous. The fact you ruined my morning does not mean I am not willing to pretend you did not, and put on a smile today."

"So it's all fake."

"I would say so, sir, and you thought that I was intoxicated, so I must be doing this right."

"As immature as that is, and your age was just lowered to ten in my perspective, I congratulate you on your sense of accomplishment."

"Why, thank you." His age remark went ignored.


	8. What is Not Important

They returned home earlier that night than the previous one, even after having stopped on the way to dine out. The meal had passed in silence; Luck saying he did not wish to converse with a child behaving in such ways as she was. Despite this, she refused to let down her silly air. Even when her talking could not influence his opinion of her, he found that his was constantly changing.

"Miss Zabbo." He bowed his head as he held the door to home for her.

"Thank you," she said, removing her outdoor clothing and taking his wrist to glance at his watch- still far too late. "An improvement from last night. Shall you be going to sleep straight away?"

"I think I'll read for a while," he said, lifting his book from where he last left it and opening it as he walked up the stairs. In a singlet and shorts, he climbed into the bed, Alia following in silence. "You should tell me the story of the music box." She stayed quiet for a good while thinking over what to tell him and what was not important, finally speaking after he had read a few pages.

"I used to be sad all day. When I got to where I could not bear myself any longer, I decided to limit my woes to a certain time. Given that the music box is the thing that makes me saddest, I thought it best to use that as my measurement of time. I can let my smile fall for the duration of one windup of that box, and then I sleep away the melancholy thoughts."

Luck considered his reply for several moments, looking from the pages. "That was a wise choice on your part," he said. "I apologize for ruining your day."

"It was not your intention. I, however, behaved the way I did purposely. For that, I am sorry."

"You should get some sleep," advised the man, smiling in the way only he smiled- that soft, chilled smirk that kept him looking level. She did not smile back. "What are your thoughts?"

"I have none of importance, Mister Luck Gandor." He looked away when she began to unbutton her dress and clamber beside him. "Goodnight."


	9. Every Pot Spotless

After Alia's behavior at the casino, and Berga's "irresponsibility" in handling her, Luck had left her home. She had cleaned everything until it was spotless, and continued to do touchups on the condition of the apartment with obsession almost daily. Every shoe in the house was shined and every item in even the kitchen organized- dishes cleaned and pots spotless.

Being home alone was boring to a point near pain. It had been suggested that she read to pass time or take up a hobby to occupy her, but with no means of making a hobby and refusal to read the books stocking the shelves of the study, she found herself with still nothing to do.

At some point she hypothesized that she would resort to sleeping all day or tapping compulsively at things to make at least some sort of motion within the next month or two. Seeing her this way made Luck realize just how childish she was, needing constant occupation. She had no idea what to do with herself, and he would not allow her to visit the hideout.

After not much longer than a fortnight of living in the home of Luck Gandor, Alia stopped being able to bear it. She needed to be moving, not lying on the floor with a watch- her landlord had lent her one to satisfy her need to know the time- hanging over her face.

She waited for him to leave for work before getting dressed, putting on the coat he had given her. With an adjustment of her hat, she set out and bought papers from several paper boys. In the nearest coffee shop, she stationed herself, buying with the money in her coin purse a coffee. The daunting task spread out before her.


	10. Newspaper Job Sections

She began to read through the jobs section of the several papers. Knowledge of English spelling rules would have been very useful. Several diners were hiring, but until she had managed to even read the word "diner," those segments of text were only gibberish that held many of the same letters as her own language. The process was fast to become tiring, and her coffee did not much of anything to ward away drooping eyes. Round, frustrated fingers soon weaved their way through orange hair, and with no care now for etiquette, her elbow rested on the table.

Small shops were also in need of hands, offering small wages, but ones large enough to entertain her. Being without company or duty was dull. Even for free, she might have worked. The warm beverage, its flavor accented with chocolate and chili powder, was running low in her cup and hot in her stomach. She withdrew from the papers, leaning back in her seat with a psychologically induced fatigue. It was noon, and she was becoming too sleepy to focus her vision on the small printed letters. For her stay in her new environment, this time of day was hers to nap.

How much time had passed, she could not tell, though her coffee had gotten cold during a half-conscious break from browsing employment options. She swallowed the last few gulps of the liquid and collected the papers, pocketing the pieces of paper which contained work choices. Her stomach was very much in need of actual food, and yet she was not hungry, making her decide that it was indeed nap time and that she would go home, eating when she arose.

When she got home, however, she was too bored to do any of that, simply lying on the floor like usual.


	11. Yesterday Did Not End Until Today

He walked through the door the next morning at four, rubbing at his head and climbing the stairs to find her sleeping with the watch on her face. Seeing this made him chuckle and put her in her spot on the bed, and the watch on the nightstand. Loosening his tie, he picked up the newspapers she had laid beside the bed and began to read, as he had neglected them the previous day.

A few jagged-edged rectangles were ripped from the jobs section. Upon seeing them, he set the paper down, skimming through the next one to see similar tearings from the same section. The same was seen in the next two. She had managed to find nine possible jobs, though it seemed there were more suitable to her. She had likely changed papers every time she got frustrated and needed a change of scenery, though the papers offered little.

As he set the papers to the side and lifted his book to read, the woman stirred in her place of resting and looked over at him, then looked to find the watch.

"It's after four," he said, and she ceased her search, settling in her place. "Since yesterday didn't end until recently, I have today off. I could help you with your job hunting if you like."

"No, thank you." Her voice was tired as she shook her head. "I would like to do this on my own."

"At least allow me to walk with you to receive application forms. I would be bored while you went off to work and I stayed."

"It would serve you right to be so." Words laced with spite shot through him with a joking sense. "I have been wallowing in boredom. I even entered the kitchen."

"Why do you hate kitchens so much?"

"They are too hazardous."

"Don't drive then," he advised. "Driving is probably just as hazardous as a kitchen."

"I doubt I ever shall, or could. Too short, I think."

"If you had a booster, maybe." They both chuckled at the thought. "But then they would also have to raise the pedals and the shift. If you ever get up the guts to drive, your car will be very expensive due to modifications."

"By that time perhaps I will have a husband, upon whose lap I will sit so I can steer."

"I don't think that would be legal, but then I couldn't talk to you about law."

"If you were wise, you could. Those who break the law should be just as practiced in it as those who formally practice it. Law is a common practice of Congressmen. You should think over that."

"I suppose that would make them less likely to be convicted, yes." He nodded, flipping to a dog-eared page in his book. The point of this made its way across to her, and she prepared to leave him to his reading.

"Will you read aloud to me?"

"It's psychology."

"Good." With a chuckle, he began to read. She had no idea who had written the theories, or whether they accurately applied to her or the people around her, but she listened with the intent to learn from his readings, and enjoyed each second of doing so before falling asleep once again.


	12. Signature to Kingdom Animalia

It was past seven when she woke up, by which time he had fallen asleep, with the book pressed against his stomach. She rose without bothering him and put on a clean shirt and coverall. Within an hour and a half, he had risen to make breakfast, plain as before but still just as filling.

"Show me the pieces of paper, with the jobs on them," he said after a hardy bite by which she supposed that he had not eaten the day before. With a nod, she ventured to the entry to pull the tearings from her pocket and returned to hand them to him. A few of them went into a pile, being labeled by him too far away, as he wanted her nearby in case of emergencies. The rest, he put into order while eating, to make a route. "You're already planning what to do with your first paycheck." A smile on his face formed a mute laugh at her.

"I am not," denied Alia.

"Are too," he said. "Let me guess. Are you going to buy clocks?"

"Perhaps."

"How many do we need?"

"Four, I believe. For the kitchen, this room, the living room, and your room."

"Let me buy them."

"No," she said. "Any change I make here will be owned by me."

"Alright. I won't argue with you." Young Gandor had learned by then that Alia, when bored, was argumentative, and while she did not treat him with stubbornness, she treated him with sarcasm. While he knew she was simply joking by her favored stance of hands on hips and chest puffed out in an act of dominance signature to kingdom animalia, he himself would become bored with banter, as adorable as a childish woman such as she was as she tried to become bigger.

"Thank you." They finished in silence. Even playful arguments were beginning to bore her. She missed new faces every day, and serving people, even if they were bitter or tired. Done with her food, she dressed, glancing at the watch between tasks through habit.


	13. Innate Behaviors

**AN: **I skipped a day. I had an audition for the advanced choir in my school, and I was really nervous. As soon as I got home, I passed out for a much needed rest of the nerves. I'll post four chapter-like things today.

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As the two walked on their route, Luck could find nothing to say to her. Even if he had something to say, he would be nervous to say it. The girl's conversations made him uneasy for reasons he knew but wished to deny. Now and then he would take a brief look at the absence on her face, and each time he could only think that she felt nothing.

"You get bored easily."

"You make it sound like I have trouble focusing. I only have trouble when there is nothing to focus on," she said. "I am actually very easily entertained. Any distraction from my own mind is welcomed with my greatest affection." Alia looked up at his steady face which bobbed rhythmically atop his step, as though at any moment he could break into waltz and keep the same waving level. That smile of his was on his face still. She wished to tear it off and glue his true expression there in its place, but knowing she was not capable of doing so, she kept her smile of similar deception on her face.

"What thoughts need you be distracted from?" Intentionally, he jabbed at her, with motives analogous to her desires to manipulate his face.

"Thoughts of how terribly dull your unwavering expression is." He chuckled.

"You are built to injure."

"I only mean to make an improvement. With such smooth hair, crystalline eyes, flawless posture-" She looked him up and down with a vulgar blue eye. "Perfect figure, and handsome visage, I find it wasteful that your pulchritude may never be touched showing actual beauty."

"True beauty was run off the stage years ago. It didn't suit the audience' taste," he explained with no mind toward her oculoplania, walking her across a vast space between sidewalks. She fell behind, as she usually did while walking with people taller and fitter than she, and the city became a thousand times bigger, and then infinitely smaller as something bigger than Luck sped towards her. A car nearly hit her square on, causing her to freeze instinctively as her landlord just as commanded by nature pulled her toward him. The car honked with its driver's rage and continued on its way. "Most people choose flight over freeze as their reaction to situations involving heavy objects such as cars approaching at high speeds."

"My innate behaviors are awry. This has always been so," said Alia as a slight increase of blood circulation became visible in her cheeks.

"You still have adrenalin. There's at least that." They carried on with their route as her high heart rate stayed apparent.


	14. A Lot of the World

"Have a nice day at work," she said as he began to leave.

"Wear your coat. It's snowing out." Her groan was met with a stern eye, and she gave in by the time he was out the door, then returned to the upper level of the apartment to dress in her uniform. It was an awful peachy color with a white apron to cover her front. Her back was covered with the apron as well, down to her waist.

She wore simplistic white shoes with this, and covered the uniform with the coat, as she had been told, and headed out to the diner that had hired her for decent money considering the work and the state of the economy. All she had to do was wait on the customers and mop on Sundays when they closed early. They had taught her the menu and their shorthand so that she could write the orders.

The day went over well, with friendly customers and regulars that gave her hefty tips simply for being new. Geraldine, the other waitress, gave her hints and pointers while things were slow between the breakfast and lunch hours and they cleaned tables, and walked part of the way home with her, as their routes coincided for the first bit of the stretches.

"You got a weird accent, and an odd look to ya," said Geraldine. "I think that's why they like ya so much."

"My accent is unusual? How so?"

"Well, your dialect is sort of different, and in a way, the way you say stuff's from this combination of a whole bunch a' places half the cats in New York ain't even seen," explained her coworker. "I can't even name 'em. You seen a lot of the world?"

"Not so much, but I learned my way of speaking from people with different dialects."

"That makes sense, I guess.. This is where I turn. See ya tomorrow."

"Yes. Good bye," bid Alia, walking straight on her way as the other parted. Walking alone, she could not help but look about her, almost sure someone was after her. No one was, of course, but there was always that sense that was so difficult to emerge from. It burdened her for a while, only until she got home, where it was Luck Gandor whose turn it was to worry.


	15. All with Twins but Forlorn 'R'

"Home."

"Have you had supper?" she asked, looking up from a book she had read what seemed to her for the millionth time in the only language she could read.

"I haven't." He took his coat off and hung it on the rack with his matching hat. "I'm the one who makes supper, anyhow."

"There is food that I brought from the diner in the refrigerator. I hope what I chose is fine." The man disappeared into the kitchen almost as quickly as he had appeared, sitting at the dining table after having heated the meal of steak and fries. She relocated herself to join him, kneeling down and tugging at the laces of one shoe. A moment, he jumped, but he eased as he saw that she was only taking his shoes off. "How was your first day?"

"It went very well." She took a seat. "I rather liked it."

"That's good," he said, his small talk exhibiting the length of his own day.

"You need some sleep." Burrowed in her tone was maternity, which he found amusing considering the voice he usually took over her.

"Thanks," he chimed sarcastically, taking a bite of his food. "Maybe you should read to me tonight, then."

"I could. My taste in reading is poor, but since it is Sicilian, I suppose you will not understand it any more than I understand your books on psychology."

"You don't sound Sicilian."

"Well, I have no nationality anymore. I do not think I sound anything, but I read Sicilian. It is the only thing I care to read."

"What is your favorite word in the language?" She considered.

"Azzizzari."

"What does it mean?"

"Embellish. The meaning itself is of no interest to me. In my mind, it is simply my favorite to look at. All the letters in it have brothers except for the poor forlorn 'r.' A-z-z-i-z-z-a-r-i."

"Azzizzari.. I think you like 'a's and 'z's."

"They are fun to write, though my penmanship has declined in the time I have not written. In cursive, though, I can get lost in the word. It is nice. What is your favorite English word?"

"Oh, I can't choose. Petrichor is the smell of the first rain following a dry spell. Abyssopelagic is of or like the sea. Those two are simply beautiful to me. Alexithymic- when you can't explain how you feel, say you're feeling alexithymic, and that's how you can explain that you don't know how to say how you feel, and when you don't have the right word, say you've got a case of lethologica, a word to communicate absence of recollected words."

"What?"

"Precisely. Another one of my favorites, precisely is. Ignoramus is the best insult."

"This I understand." She said with a smile. "Anything more?"

"Nepenthe is the drug said to cure all grievances in the Odyssey, almost like a psychological Panacea. Almost anyone who has ever felt pain, and that would be everyone, would pine after it."

"I would not," disagreed the woman, and he turned to observe her eyes. A moment's hesitance had her avoiding his, before she acquiesced and allowed their eyes to meet. "Only one burden in my life is too troublesome. The rest muddle together into one painful memory, that does not reach half as high in my threshold of tolerance for such recollections, as the isolated occasion that far surpasses this limit. Even said single memory would be cruel to forget. The rest would simply do no good to relinquish. Nepenthe would only do me bad." By the end of her speech, her eyes had drifted again from his.

"You are so decided in this matter.. Do you really believe you have felt pain greater than you'll ever feel from now?" he asked, a slight indentation defining itself in his glabella as he spoke. "You have too much life ahead of you even to begin contemplating. How could you think that no worse of a burden will present itself to you?"

"I have had humanity raped into me and raped out by the same foul child of some cruel god. You may know the feeling to some degree. The sensation is like that of losing an arm and still feeling your fingertips." She reached her arm out in front of her and looked at her hand, playing with it in the air. "You cannot grow it back." Her eyes returned to his as she smiled. "But since these amputations are not visible, you can smile like your entire reason for existence is still intact." His own pools of ember gold followed her rising figure. "Call me ignorant. It is the greatest pain I have felt and I have since then become numb to prevent from suffering any more. Goodnight, Mister Luck Gandor, and rest well before you are made to confess as much to me as I have to you this night." Behind her was left a trail of grey- and he saw that, as she had promised, she was very dull and lifeless, but for a slight tinge staining her slate blue.

"Goodnight, Miss Zabbo," he said, finishing his late supper and climbing the stairs, only joining her when he heard her music box stop playing. "I still expect a story."


	16. Just Questions

"Hey Luck!" Luck looked up from his game with the other men in the hideout to see Firo, and smiled at the pleasant surprise visit. "The twenty-fifth of Kislev is coming up soon." December had approached quickly, and in ten days it would be Hanukkah. "You gonna celebrate with us?"

"Is the rest of your party going to be your family or the gang?"

"Did that ever make a difference before?"

"It does now," said Luck, withdrawing from the game. "Wherever I celebrate, I'm bringing Alia."

"That girl you just got?"

"She's a tenant," he beckoned his friend with one hand as he put on his coat and hat.

"Where are you keeping her?"

"In my apartment. Where else would I keep her?" They strode along the busy walks, caught in the sloppy current signature to their city, New York.

"I was asking what room."

"My room," he answered. "Until I set up her room. These questions are pointless."

"Just questions. Anyhow, it's just me and the Martillo family, not the whole gang, with Mister Ristagno's wife and children."

"No Ristagno, though?" Their voices were now hushed. The Ristagno name was used at rare and quiet intervals while in public. There was never telling who was listening in that particular area of town.

"He'll be busy. Sometimes families get too big for holidays."

"That's a shame." Luck shook his head a bit. "The Gandors'll never get to that size."

"You never know. I heard his daughter was sweet on ya. Could be beneficial."

"Miss Berenice?"

"You've seen her before, right?"

"She and I have spoken a time or two."


	17. Too Much a Cause of Madness

The phone rang for Sudko, a man not much taller than Alia with hair of strawberry blond, but it was not Sudko who answered.

"Hello?"

"Clay? This is Alia." This man was Sudko's partner. While she did not much care what gender her friend associated with romantically, she did not entirely approve of his choice of an individual. He was a Christian man who did not seem to like her, and she was just about as partial to him as his constant ridicule implied he was partial to her.

"Okay."

"You are a wonderful call-taker. Can he speak with me?"

"No."

"Are you only saying that?"

"Yeah. What do you want?" She sighed.

"I was wondering if Sudko would celebrate Hanukkah with me, seeing as he is Jewish."

"He's celebrating Christmas with me."

"It ends on the twentieth. I need permission from the family I will be celebrating with so it is best that I get an answer fairly soon."

"I don't want him near you," said Clay stubbornly. "He isn't feeling well."

"You cannot answer for him."

"I am answering for him. He's been harming himself because of the trouble he went through for you. I won't have that anymore." Alia, even internally, flinched at the severity of his tone.

"I would like if he at least gave me the books."

"Which books? I've heard of no books."

"Tell him and he will understand. I will not make him celebrate with me. All I need is that series of books."

"Alright." The click of the phone preceded a quiet spell that she could not bring herself at ease in.

"Home." Luck closed the door about a half hour later, and she turned.

"Good evening. Sorry, I neglected to bring supper."

"That's okay. I've eaten," he said, heading straight to the washroom. The shower turned on and she took her cue to go where he would not be. Her choice was the study, where she browsed his books, mostly poetry and psychology- an odd mix to her, though she could understand the connection if poetry was the literary painting of the psyche. Otherwise among the many volumes in the selection of two opposite shelves were scattered tales of many a random sort. One was even romance, for which she stifled a poking snicker. Romance was something she had never seen in a man's selection of books, except for the selection of that friend of hers taller than Berga, who ran a shop of literature in both English and Sicilian, even though she kept from him for much the same reason Clay was now keeping her from Sudko.

She was too much a cause of madness.


	18. Lost in What Way?

"I've been wondering, Alia. How did you end up in the hands of the Camorra?"

"How did you end up in the Mafia?"

"You already know I was born into it."

"Yes," she said, sipping on a cup of the coffee she had made. Clay had given the coffee maker to her, as Sudko had somehow attempted to put a sort of damage to his hand with it. While she was interested in knowing how, she was horrified by his condition. "Sudko handed me to Ronnie. You have heard of him, I think?"

"You haven't mentioned him." Whether she had been too guilty to mention it, or if she was guilty having not mentioned it, she could not tell, but she felt guilty.

"He is a good friend of mine. One of the best.. I cannot see him anymore though," remorse spilled through her words in such concentration that Luck himself felt guilty having brought any of it up.

"Why?" She shook her head.

"Will not say." Grunting as she labored her way from her seat, she left to dress, and Luck stayed behind swirling his mug of the dark, unsweetened brew. He desired to meet the friend she had mentioned, but it seemed unlikely that they would be introduced. The thought mulled over as he stared blankly at the clock- the first clock Alia had bought for the place. Its numbers were bold roman numerals, the hands carefully crafted. While it was small, it was very beautiful, making him wonder how she had gotten it at such a reasonable price as she said. "Would you please walk me to work today, if it does not trouble you? I get-"

"Lonely. I'll walk you."

"Thank you," she finished the last of her coffee, now cool and unpleasant yet all the same to her, and brushed her teeth. With a quick glance at the clock and the pulling on of her coat, she left, later sneaking a peek at the watch she still had.

"This Sudko. He's alive, right?"

"It seems he does not wish to be, but yes. He lives," she said, sliding her arm through his without looking at him. Their breath was visible as it mingled with the air and car exhaust that built the smell of the city. No one seemed to mind the smell once they had lived there long enough. In fact, if she were not to smell the smoke, she would have held all the tighter to Luck.

"Is he mad?"

"His mental state is dreadful." Her head bobbed in a clumsy nod. "The blame goes to me. I do not mind taking it, but it makes me sorry.."

"This has to be one of the most passionate speeches I've heard from you."

"I do not take other lives lightly. Mine is the only one at which I scoff. In the meantime, I have yet to hear any passion from you. All I know is that you wear a mask similar to mine, though yours is calmer and more respectable."

"I guess I'll thank you for that compliment. There's not really much to say about me that doesn't somehow merge in with my work," said Luck. "You don't want to hear about that."

"But I do," insisted Alia. "The way a man suits his work and the converse says a lot about him."

"Then what does yours say about you?"

"That I like to be simple. What does yours say about you?"

"I've no clue."

"I think you are lost."

"If we're so similar despite our differences, wouldn't that mean you're lost as well?"

"Of course I am lost," she said, stopping as they near the front of the diner. "But not quite in the same way you are. You seem lost in expectations. There is a group you belong to but you do not belong in it. That is troublesome because it seems this group holds you to be quite great, and you have many acquaintances in it, but the activities and workings of it do not suit you. No one really knows what does."

"And you say you're bad with psychology."

"Yours is just similar enough to mine for me to see the issues.. So I would like you to tell me: where am I lost?"

"Everywhere, it looks like." He finally withdrew his arm from hers and nudged her toward the diner. It was getting cold and his toes were beginning to freeze. While perhaps she did not complain about the winter, he did not enjoy it, and did not intend for anyone, be it himself or his tenant, to catch cold or develop a case of hypothermia.

"That sounds correct enough. Have a nice day, Luck."

"Likewise."


	19. Honest Eavesdropping

I skipped another day because I'm a derp. I've been sleeping over at friends' houses all weekend. Actually, I'm still at one, but I'm going to stop being lazy. In other news, I got my first review! It thrilled me. Thank you again Ashj!

* * *

The last night of Hanukkah was drawn out long until everyone had to sleep over at the Martillo's. had taken the guest room with her two youngest daughters, leaving her son, Silvano, and daughter, Berenice, to find their own places to sleep. Her son, of an age relative to Luck's, Firo, and the brothers Gandor, insisted that the ladies slept on furniture, so Berenice took the couch with two , and Alia and Ennis managed to fit on the chair, with the men all finding places on the floor that would suit them.

She woke on the twenty-first of December with a belly full and bloated with fried foods for, thankfully, the last time that year. It seemed but for a few moments that she was the first to wake, but she found that she was not when subtle murmurs sprouted shyly from the kitchen. Firo was sleeping against the wall separating the kitchen and living room, woken up when she pressed her ear against it.

"What are y- ow." He said quietly, wary of other sleepers but not of any conversational partners. She withdrew her foot from where it had kicked his stomach, and bent down.

"I am eavesdropping. Berenice is missing. Who else?" Firo studied the room, then joined her.

"Luck." They hushed then to better hear the conversation through the wall, not even distracting each other with their eyes.

"It's been fun seeing how much closer small-time families are. I'd like to celebrate something or other with you again as soon as I can."

"Do you have a date for New Year's?" There was no response, probably a silent answer. "Then I'll ask your father for permission to take the role."

"He's got a date," whispered Firo, looking up from his crouching place on the floor, provoking Alia to look up until she was looking behind her.

"Whose idea was this?" asked Luck, having emerged from the kitchen alone; by the sound of the stove being turned on, Berenice had stayed to cook. Alia raised her hand without shame, then returned her tired head to its usual position to see Firo giving him the thumbs up.


	20. An Old Friend Returning

Alia yawned, entering home with Luck.

"I think I do not want so much fried food for two hundred years."

"I swear that every time, but by the next Hanukkah, I'm excited for the food again."

She lied down on the couch and rubbed her stomach, yawning once more. "Do you have work today? I was given the day off."

"I'm taking the day off."

"Good. I see too little of y-" A knock on the door interrupted her. "I will answer." She did as she said she would, opening it to see Sudko. "Does Clay know you are here?" Sudko shook his head as she beckoned him inside to close out the cold which was so hated by the landlord of the apartment.

"He still feels bitter. I think he will get over it eventually. I'm sorry I couldn't celebrate with you, though it's nice to know that you celebrate again.." Sudko's eyes flashed toward Luck as a way of distracting himself, wrinkling at the ends as he smiled. "Is this your landlord?"

"Yes. Luck Gandor is his name."

"Ronnie told me. Sudko Dods," the small man reached a hand out in introduction, returning to Alia soon after. She peered at him in such a way that he could tell she was uncomfortable. "I know, my attitude.."

"It is much like his."

"I promise I'll behave. What I came here to talk about.." Alia brushed a strand of hair out of his eyes so that she could pay attention while he continued in Sicilian. All the time he spoke, her brows sank lower and lower, until she looked nearly angry. "He was in America, you see, for a while, actually."

"But why?"

"He was writing his will and planning his death. You're meant to own and manage his company."

"I cannot manage a company. That is foolish!"

"He thought.. Well, you know how things were supposed to go."

"Yes but he knew I wanted otherwise."

"In this decision, he only wanted you well off." Luck excused himself from the confusion in order to shower and dress anew. "You don't have to manage it. Just own it."

"You manage it."

"I will if you wish it. You know how he was. He stayed out of the foolishness that everyone else took part in last decade."

"Is the business doing well now?"

"As well as it ever did. In the last few years, it has taken advantage of the depression by expanding into products absolutely necessary for survival at low prices, for those with jobs. It extends its profit to charities which then tell its name, and the people who get back on their feet then buy from the company." Alia's brows rose as she became rather impressed.

"He was too intelligent for his own good," she snorted.

"I've appointed you the day after Christmas for a meeting to claim ownership of the company."

"Come with me."

"Alright." The water upstairs stopped. "May I use your washroom?"

"You may, on the left side of the hall, beside the study." He left the room, carrying his case with him and setting it beside the door. Seeing her window of escape, she went outside to smoke a cigarette she had gotten from Berga.

Sudko, though Alia was unable to see, did not enter the washroom. Instead, he made his presence known to Luck by knocking on the door, entering before being answered.

"Cover anything needed. I'm leaving these four books here. Hide them from Alia, anywhere you know she will not be. If she reads them, they will be a bad influence on her. I'll be leaving now." He then left the house, and said goodbye to his friend, who waved him on his way.


	21. Four Times What I Can Remember

She dialed the number to Clay's again, Sudko answering.

"Did Clay not tell you to give me those books?"

"He did," said Sudko. "I'm so sorry, but I looked everywhere. These days it's like there's four times what I can remember in my mind."

"That is fine," she said. "If you find them, call me, or mail them to me. Get some rest, though."

"I will," said the man solemnly. "Goodbye, Alia." There was a type of finality in his tone she found a strong hatred for, which she could collect no ability to remedy.

"Do nothing rash. I know the company you have access to and I will not hold if you misbehave the way it sounds."

"Why are you so worried?"

"Clay told me you were harming yourself. I refuse to accept that. If you take it too far.. I will be alone."

"There's always Evio."

"There is not always Evio, and Clay will have to live knowing that his love was taken away."

"Alia, I don't want to have this conversation right now."

"That is a shame on your part, for I deny you the right not to have it. Do nothing rash," she repeated, Sudko scoffing on the other end. "And you do not need to control the company for me. I will hire another to do so and you can have seventy percent of the ownership."

"Too much."

"Enough," the woman insisted, her tone distressed. "Hardly enough, really. Take all of it. I am comfortable now."

"Stop acting so guilty and take the company. At the very most I'd accept an equal division of the ownership. The burden I have is nothing. Stop pitying me." The sound of a slam finished the call, and anger was left; only anger. An amount of it was angled toward Sudko, a tiny iota that lasted perhaps a single scintilla, and then self-hatred remained and she played her music box and fell asleep until the next day when she had to be awake for work.


	22. People, Not a People

"What was that whole company thing?"

"It began not long after the industrial revolution in Britain began. That is all I really know. No one ever informed me of what is produces, besides Sudko recently telling me that it now distributes necessities for living. I figure that later, they will include other less necessary and more expensive products that people will buy simply because of the inexpensive name and pressure saying that they absolutely need whatever item it could be."

"Think we could enter the twenties all over again?"

"If America enters another war, it is likely. I honestly doubt the country will stay out of war for long. It is too proud."

"Is any nation without pride? I would suppose that you take pride in Sicily; that's why you addressed the country instead of including yourself in your statement as 'we.'" She clicked her tongue and waved a finger.

"Clever, you caught that. I want to go back when it is safe for Jews."

"Do you have family there?"

"I do not."

"Friends?"

"No."

"Then why do you wish to go? You have people here."

"Sudko."

"Firo and Ennis liked you, and so did my brothers' wives. Berga considers you an acquaintance, and when I was speaking with Berenice, in case you didn't hear, she said she thought you were cute."

"I have been here long enough to know that such endearing terms only mean childish and ridiculous."

"Yeah, but even you own up to that one," Luck said, and she was not insulted in the least. "Ronnie sounded like he cared that you had a place to stay."

"Now you stretch truths."

"I don't. I've known Ronnie long enough to know when he does or doesn't care. You have people here. All that's in Sicily is a people."


	23. Mr Ristagno Loves to Dance

December prepared to enter January, and Luck stepped into the dance hall owned by Mister Ristagno. Ristagno was partial to dance- any sort of dance would do, just as any sort of music was good. That was why when he threw a party, it was one with dancing. People were not required to dance, but if they did dance, he liked them that much more.

For a good hour, he was convinced that he had been stood up for the date, until he found that Ristagno himself was absent. He was assuaged, and could further comfort himself with the fact that it was not yet actually New Year's. The clock's hands rested peacefully on ten before she arrived.

"It took a little convincing for him to let me date you," she said as she took his hand. "What do you say we dance? He'll be judging you on it."

"I guess I have no choice." He led her into a steady, time-accurate step, to a light and happy piece.

"How are things?"

"Good. Very good, considering the times. We've had minimum disturbances on Gandor turf and it seems my home location is secure."

"How about outside work?"

"I'm still happy my home isn't in danger," said Luck, smiling. "Otherwise nothing much has happened in over a month, aside from Hanukkah, which I really did enjoy."

"I did too. The Martillos are truly kind. I would like to celebrate with them next year. Or have them celebrate with my family. Father never denies guests- only being a guest."

"He's a good host. Just look at this party," Luck glanced around at the cheerful splendor.

"You should come next year. By then Father will have had a lot of time to warm up to you."

"I look forward to it." He smiled, though the smile quickly faded when the dance ended and gave stage to a new one. "Chopin's Waltz in a minor. He didn't actually intend these to be waltzes. He just liked the heavy downbeat and three-fourths time."

"Why do you look so bothered by it?"

"No reason." His smirk returned and they danced, not wishing to admit that he became vicariously melancholy when listening to the dreaded melody of a specific set of plucked teeth.


	24. Alia Sells Morphine on the Streets

"What the hell?"

"I got the rest of the clocks. If you were unable to tell," she said.

"How did you afford that grandfather clock?" He asked, then mocked a stern look. "Alia, are you in a gang?"

"No."

"Selling morphine on the streets? You can make money off of that."

"You would know."

"I would."

"It looks familiar," said Luck, leaning back with a hand on his chin to look over it more fully. "Mister Tick's father made it, didn't he?"

"Perhaps."

"Don't associate with Tick, or anyone in the gangs, for that matter. It's bad enough you live with me."

"But he was nice."

"I don't care. Whether or not we're 'nice,' the business we get into is not nice at all. You could very well get killed being anywhere on mafia turf, and that's quite a big part of the city," he said.

"Well, I like Mister Tick, and his father's clocks. Anyhow, I myself am in no dangerous business. On that topic, my company's ownership was set up. Sudko and I were neither willing to take half of the company, and we ended up with an extra ten percent of ownership whose profit is going god-knows-where. Savings, for now. I think that when I find out to whom I should give it, I will split that fifty-five percent ownership in two parts, and take the smaller share."

"You must hate the business. Most people would simply take everything if it was on a will."

"One might say so."


	25. Casinos Without Clocks

A knock on the door arrived near seven in the evening, when she was home while Luck was not. She answered, of course, and found the fair Berenice on the other side of the big wooden door.

"Hello Alia," she exclaimed as if the best adult friend of a child. It vexed the girl addressed not to know what was so endearing about women who were short and with light stoutness to their shape. "It's nice to see you again! Is Luck home?"

"No," said Alia. "I am sorry, but I have no idea when he will be home. Please, come inside, if you would like to wait for him here."

"That would be nice, thank you."

"Would you like something to drink? There is coffee and hot chocolate, and though Luck says my tea is weak, the kitchen is equipped with it."

"I like scotch," Berenice said, green eyes shining in grin. Alia smirked back and walked bitterly into the kitchen, looking for scotch, which she figured Luck kept around for parties or late, late nights when she fell asleep before he returned home. She found it in a cabinet near the pantry and came back with the drink and a glass, noting that in the sink several similar glasses rested, and deciding that she might wash them later in greater contempt for a disorderly home than for kitchens.

She set the liquor and glass on the coffee table and allowed the guest to pour it for herself, sitting in one of the chairs and glancing at the grandfather clock, then her watch.

"Do you collect clocks?" She looked up.

"I am not sure of how to answer. You may say so. I do not like a place to be without clocks."

"You must hate casinos."

"I bring my watch."

"Do you like casinos then?"

"I suppose, though I never really learned how to gamble. Morra is all I really know.. Do you like casinos?"

"I love them, and they love me, because I win often. I think I like them because there are no clocks. Time is a scary thing. Who knows how much time any given person has left to live?" The blond turned to her. "So what makes you carry a watch with you?" Alia's face bore a small grimace of sorts.

"My sense of time is so skewed. I enjoy keeping track of it. It keeps me sane, really. In this way it seems we are opposite."

"There's nothing wrong with that."

"I would not think there was for a moment."


	26. Spark

"Why are you so good at winning?"

"I take after Father," sang Berenice. "You might get him to teach you. He'd like that."

"I don't think any father dislikes his daughter's lover sucking up to him," Luck said, playing another hand that would not stand a chance against his opponent.

"Are you afraid of him?"

"I lose a large diplomatic tie or two if I piss him off, but of the man, I don't fear. He is so admirable that I expect that if I behave well, and I intend to behave only the best I can, he will not behead me- I am doomed again. Can't you go easy on me?"

"No can do," she said with a mellifluous laugh, reaching an expectant hand toward him. "You owe me. Pay up." He smiled as he did as told, producing bills from his wallet and pounding them into her hand. Playfully, they fought for the bills for the few moments until he surrendered and she pecked his lips. "Let's play another game."

"No."

"We don't have to play for money."

"I still don't want to."

"Sore loser," she poked with bitterness.

"I'm just bored of cards."

"Why?"

"They've lost their spark, I suppose."

"Their spark? You want 'em to have spark?"

"Yeah," said Luck flatly. "I want them to have spark." Berenice took a swig of scotch and sighed with refreshment before collecting the cards and withdrawing a match from a book of its brethren, striking its head and setting the cards aflame.

"That enough spark?"


	27. On the Hobby of Feigning Drunk

"Do I look like a boy?" she asked, finished buttoning the shirt she had stolen from Clay's dresser. Sudko laughed as he straightened her out.

"You just need a coat and you've got yourself a convincing disguise," answered the man, fixing a tie around her neck and taking the dress she had taken off. "Hey, what if I wore this?"

"You would look like a girl." A mischievous look was exchanged between them before he threw the dress on and tugged on her stockings. "All you need is a hat so that your forehead looks more feminine." She pulled her hat onto his head and adjusted it, then nodded with approval.

"A hat for you, too," he noted, lifting her hair onto the top of her head and putting his hat on her. "There. We've successfully traded gender for the day. We must now see if people are convinced or if we're just kidding ourselves." With an excited tug, they went outside into the city to test their false identities.

Sudko and Alia were the closest of friends, and rather enjoyed being silly, especially when they were otherwise depressed. Cross-dressing was new, though. They usually went for annoying people at shops with odd, useless questions or tasks, or coming up with the worst of puns, only to bother everyone with them as they created a stormy laughter.

Yes, Alia had learned feigning drunk from him, and it was rather effective in distracting them from even simple things, like that fact that it was winter and Alia would not be able to tell by anything but the snow.


	28. Earlier Than You Did

Alia indulged herself in a soothing bath in the cold second half of January. The study had yet to be set into a room, though she minded not Luck's company, only the fact that all too often, situations had her stuck in awkward places, as she was stuck now.

Giggles and titters and laughs could be heard across the hall, and she realized that Berenice was over and she was doomed to stay in the tub until she left. The pair had become involved quickly, though she knew they had likely been aware of each other's existence a reasonable time prior to the affair being practiced then.

Personally, she was not so apt in relations. Never had she kissed, though she had been embraced to the point of suffocation and known by one man. Still, she would never say she had made love, surmising that both participants of the relationship at hand were far more adapt than she to having affinity for specimen of the opposite sex.

She began to wrinkle considerably in her waiting, finally emerging from the water and letting it fall through the drain, then venturing to the study for a book to occupy her. Indeed, it was occupying to struggle through word after oddly-spelt word, but she was bored all the same, rolling her eyes and waiting, and waiting, until all sound stopped. Berenice did not leave, though, having only fallen asleep.

Rolling her eyes once more, Alia walked across the hall wrapped in a towel and tapped on the door lightly.

"Luck. Get me clothes." He opened the door a crack.

"When the hell did you get home?" Luck whispered.

"Earlier than you did. Music box too." Her voice was a low murmur as she bounced impatiently on her toes for her needed items. Being handed them, she retired in the living room.


	29. Expose Your Maliciousness

She woke to the sound of that minor melody, this time not as sad as angry.

"What on earth would possess you to do such a thing if you were aware of the emotions consequential to this awful sound?"

"I consider it your punishment for not making yourself known," said Luck.

"I should expose this to your lover."

"Expose what?"

"Your maliciousness." Spite wrapped around a tongue that looked to grow two hissing prongs.

"I like when you're passionate."

"You are nasty."

"I told you I was swine." She smiled. "Why are you smiling?"

"No reason," said Alia, going upstairs to find Berenice still sleeping and taking care not to wake her in retrieving her uniform for work. She returned with it around her person, jutting her chin up to face Luck. "I want my own room, or my own home, and you know, now that I am paying rent in the form of ten percent of my company, you might want to give me the room.."

"I haven't heard of this."

"Keith has. He is skilled in listening to good deals."

"I should expose this to your next lover."

"That is foolish," she said, withdrawing from his front and brushing her hair with the same fire to her stroke as to the color of said strands. "You see, due to the amputation I had long ago which I believe I mentioned, I do not love. You are out of luck, Mister Luck Gandor. Goodbye." As she made way for the door, Luck made a straying reply.

"Have a nice day."

"And you."


	30. Not to Be Woken

Luck was intelligent, she knew, and due to this true fact, she felt a need to compete while irritated with him. Frankly enough, it was very often that she was.

Straining her mind made her realize Luck wanted her gone, not only for her good. She had not managed to figure why, except that she could suppose it was that he was partaking in an affair with a woman, and another female around was uncomfortable. Truth told, as angry as she was toward him that moment, the late air of a frozen draw to New Year's month was calming her, and she contemplated that even if Luck chose to evict her rather than allow her the study to board, she would have him keep the ten percent of the company.

"Hey," said Geraldine as their ways converged, laughing immediately at her coworker's expression. "I don't think I've ever seen you angry." Alia sighed. "What?"

"I have been sleeping in the same room as my landlord, and I would like to continue, given as I am not fond of darkness, or of loneliness, but he has a lover now and I have given him the choice to evict me or set a room for me. I have the means to set the room myself if he does not evict me, but really I would simply prefer.."

"To still sleep with him?"

"..That he would not wake me up so viciously." Her partner in working laughed again.

"Then I think a room of your own'd fix that."

Alia went home that night and found that a room had been set for her.


	31. The Beginning of a Battle

I think I'm changing the rating of this to M.. I dunno. Better safe than sorry.

* * *

"Hey Berga," Alia stifled her laughter, holding the book. "I found this in Luck's study. I am unable to read English, but I managed the words 'amorous,' 'love,' and just recently.."

"What?"

"'Cunt.'" If Berga had been drinking from a beverage, she was sure he would have spit it. Instead, he choked at the word that had exited her mouth. His face twisted into a shock as Keith took the book and eyed the cover, handing it to his brother, who opened only to the first page.

"Jeez. Right there on the first page."

"I thought it was romance as first, but I looked at some five pages and picked up what I could. It is about intercourse, is it not?" she asked, craning her neck over to catch a glimpse of the text. She pouted as the man shoved her away by the face and continued to look through the book with increasingly incredulous eyes.

"Oh, he ain't never gonna live this down." Something felt evil about what she had done, but in a way she rather liked her way of avenging the embarrassment of having to stay hidden while listening to Luck and Berenice having the time, and her unfair waking by the music box. He would obviously strike back somehow after this, but what was the fun of revenge without someone getting revenge back? Duels were always the best, and so as Berga asked many questions about what positions people were in and how this book had made its way into the youngest Gandor's study, she thought of what she might do once he retaliated on her next.

"What is it called, anyhow?"

"Story of the Eye. I'm done with this. Sorta. I'll be nailing it to the wall with his name written on it." Alia snorted with amusement.

"He is going to hate me for showing this to you."

"Should I keep it secret then?"

"No. His hatred is only a reason you should make it as public as possible. I would like to officially engage myself in a battle with your sibling."


	32. The Long Way to Work

"Let me walk you," said Luck before Alia could leave for work. Despite her new source of income, she refused to lie about, so she hadn't quit her job yet.

"If you wish," she answered casually, allowing him to take her arm and lead her in the opposite direction. "Where are you taking me?"

"Your place of work," he said. "We're taking the long way." She knew the street they had just turned on, though she had not realized it was so close to Luck's place.

"Alright," said Alia, slowing down. "What say you we take the very, very long way?"

"You'll be late."

"All the same," she said. "I do not particularly need the job."

"Reckless of you."

"Maybe I should go back to the twenties and become a flapper. That would be reckless."

"I don't think the makeup would flatter you."

"Maybe not. I may not be a professional face-reader, but you are far too absent for even me to miss." She slowed more. "And you have made me nervous ever since waking me with the box that morning."

"It was a week ago, Alia. Can you hold a grudge that long?"

"I bet I could hold it a century if my body allowed so much time." As they neared the middle of the road, she sped up.

"Alia? You cut your hair. My god, woman! Why did you cut your hair?" She turned with dread to face her reason for never navigating that dreaded street: a man.

"Why do you still work in that shop?"

"Because I knew you would know where it was.."


	33. Striving for Mortification

She walked through the door to home to see Luck and Berenice playing cards in the living room.

"That was humiliating, and I know it was Clay. He always strives to mortify me!"

"He said you were friends with that man and that you were simply too shy to reestablish the connection. And really, I'm glad to have gotten back at you for that embarrassment you caused me at work."

"I have wronged him," she said, audibly agitated and distressed. "I disappeared from him and was convinced.. Well, anyone would have the right to hate me after that. He knows how ridiculous and cold I am."

"If you're so cold, why do you care that you wronged him?" He asked.

"You lose again," Berenice interrupted, taking her reward and dealing for another round. Alia could not answer, only sitting heavily on the couch.

"I am convinced you wish to drive me away."

"I did tell you I'd prefer you left as soon as possible. My company isn't exactly the safest," Luck said. "But I honestly thought I was doing you a favor."

"Mafiosi do not do favors."

"You are paying me quite the excess of rent."

"Because I hate the company," she said. "That is nothing to do with anything."

"I'm not fond of debt."

"I know you are not." A thick sigh emptied her lungs. "He is coming over for supper with his son."

"So you're going to continue the friendship despite your recent complaints?" asked the man, finally gathering the cards he had become frustrated with and fetching paper to play Broadsides. Between the advancing conversation, the couple shot guesses at each other in attempts to win sea battles.

"I said that the process of reuniting with him was embarrassing. I did not say that I would not proceed to be in his company."


	34. Nothing Need Be Said

"Long hair?" asked the little boy of seven, called Julie. He was scrawny, tall for his age, dark-haired, and freckled, like his father, and Alia could almost see the twelve-year-old she saw in pictures of the now-grown child named Evio.

Evio was becoming grey at the age of forty-six, but had kept the same exact awkwardness as he always had. Luckily, his son was not so modest that it hindered his ability to get along with other children. He had endured such problems as a child, having not even been let out of his apartment and the small playground in back of it until he had exited the first decade of his life.

"Down to her hips," said Evio with a wide smile, scooping a bite of food into his mouth. His son shook his head.

"I can't see it."

"But it is the truth," insisted Alia with a comedy to her tone. "And when I did not brush it for a long, long time, once, it did not lie down my back, but stood in the air this far with knots!" She held her hands far from her head on either side, and the boy laughed. Berenice, also a guest at the table, grinned warmly at the scene.

"I don't believe it," he said.

"It happened," she assured him, shaking her head. "And it took a whole ten days to make it straight again. My boarding-mates had to help me. Three of us, it took, I do not joke."

"Is that so?" asked Julie, looking to his father to see.

"It is, it is," his father chimed. "I was one of the boarding-mates, and at that time, your Grandmother was fit as a horse! She helped as well!"

"You lived together?" Luck questioned.

"A while ago," said Alia, looking down. "That was before I left with no word."

"You didn't have to say anything," argued Evio in attempts to erase her injustice done toward him. "You never do."


	35. Purely Physical, Purely Impulsive

"And you don't see anything weird?"

"I choose not to," she said with a stubbornness Luck knew he had no competition against. Women should be sent to war, he thought. They fought at the very least ten times as ferociously as men.

"He is forty-six years old, and you are only eighteen! It just isn't right." He stood just as concrete by his point.

"I will not say you are wrong, I will only say that I do not care, and that I will continue to be lover to Evio however long you continue to be lover to Berenice." It was always the small women too- not just small in height, as Alia was, but small in social stature. The small ones always had the need to fight whatever or whoever oppressed them, even in the smallest and most trivial matters.

"Berenice is my age. There's nothing wrong with me being with her, but you. You. With Evio? I wouldn't have even imagined it without your mention." The door opened and closed, allowing entrance to the woman discussed.

"Another quarrel?" She asked. Usually she took Luck's side, and she would have in that discussion, but he did not allow her to enter.

"I won't have that here," he said. "You can take part in whatever vulgar activities you wish outside my doors, but not here."

"Do you see me as such a purely physical thing that you believe I am going to leap on the opportunity to enjoy intercourse with him?"

"I see you as such a purely impulsive being that you would do so."

"That is insulting. Since I am not allowed my affair in this place, I suppose I shall leave you to yours and be pleased with mine elsewhere. I will respect your rule." The connotations of dictatorship went much noticed by him as she left a cool breeze over her shoulder.


	36. Money for a Tailor

"Your shirts, Evio, are gigantic," she said, unfastening a few buttons near his collar.

"The only ones tall enough are fit for large men," explained the man in unnecessary defense. "What are you doing?"

"Taking over the control of you." She climbed into his shirt and moved his arms inside the sleeves. "The fact you can fit an entire other person in your shirts is ridiculous. Either fill these shirts out or have them fixed to fit you."

"I haven't the means to do so." Withdrawing from beneath his clothing, she sat beside him on his small sofa and frowned.

"Sudko came to me last month and said that I inherited Satan's company. I do not want it. I practically hate it."

"What are you saying?"

"I have been convincing people to take pieces from it little by little. Sudko has forty-five percent of it, the Gandor family has ten. I have the rest, but I want to give some of it to you."

"You deserve the company," he said.

"So do you. I want you to take a portion of it. Twenty-five percent or more should do. When you die, that piece of it will go to your son. He will have a good future that way."

"You're manipulating me with that."

"I only wish your family well. Tell me: where is Julie's mother?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Because it strikes my curiosity. What a woman I must be for people to think my questions are meant for attacking them."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be defensive. He is a bastard. His mother left him with me. In honesty, he is the only reason I at all try to be a respectable man."

"That is a respectable reason to be respectable," she said, pecking his cheek.


	37. An Age Difference Like Parent and Child

Another four-chapter day. I wasn't feeling too great last night so I went almost straight to sleep.

* * *

It was the first time since their argument over the morality of Alia's romance that they had been alone together. Berenice had not been able to stay the night, and breakfast began with silence, but by the redness of her hair and the gold of his eyes, which seemed about to melt under the heat of approaching conflict, the silence would not last long.

"I want to have Evio over tonight." He sighed.

"No."

"In my room."

"Absolutely not."

"Why not? It is Valentine's Day."

"Then come to dinner with Bernice and me."

"That would be nice, but I really want to be allowed to have him here."

"It's not happening Alia."

"You disapprove so strongly of us."

"When a person is old enough to be their partner's parent, I find it disturbing, and prefer for it to be outside my home," he said.

"If the feelings shared are genuine and both partners are of age, is it really wrong? Your feelings and Berenice's surely do not go as deep as ours."

"It is not expected that they go deep. We spoke of the relationship, and it is only a small item for the time being. Your relationship, on the other hand, has not been discussed, and it's visible, and it's wrong. Settle with dinner. I'll let him over when you convince me, and be warned I'll take the closest scrutiny I can to both your behaviors."


	38. The Scarecrow Sees His Field is Safe

Being the most elderly at the table had Evio feeling out of place during the date, only comforted by the embrace of hands with his lover. Berenice felt twice as misfit. Her feelings had recently slipped past the limit that was set before. She would not have called it love, but it was certainly bigger than their item. Neither spoke at length for the entirety of the evening.

The two left feeling casual were Alia and Luck, who conversed fluently despite their recent bout of inability to agree on anything. Because of this, dinner was an argument, kept playful for the sake of their surroundings, and nothing much more.

"There's no way we're entering another war any time soon. We've discussed this before." She had brought up once more her prediction that it would not be another decade without war. Wartime economy was all too needed in order to mend the depression. This debate went on awhile, and faded into a new, more ridiculous one.

"My business is mine. I will glance at the watch as often as I wish." Upon saying this, she stared with intensity at the watch for an entire five minutes.

"You've had more than enough to drink." In spite of him, she drank more.

"Big, serious Mister Luck Gandor." The end to all arguments she could not settle spilled from her drunken lips and ended the dinner date. It was her way of giving up, and after being called out on excessive severity, Luck would let it go.

Evio saw that his beloved made her drunken way home without harm, tucking her into the bed with fond memories of many prior bedtimes, and then walked home in the big, serious New York as nothing more than a scarecrow.


	39. More Than Anyone Else in the World

"How tall is Dad?"

"Too tall," Alia poked. "Let us see." She held her arms out and beckoned him to take them. When he did, she propped him up on her shoulders. From the desk, she took a pencil, and handed it to the boy. "Now, if I recall correctly, it was on this wall that your father's height used to be recorded. I remember the marks." She walked toward the wall. "Yours are there too.." She handed him the pencil. "Put our mark up there, and when your father is finished with work, we shall compare."

"Do you think I'll be tall as him when I'm all grown up?"

"Taller, I think. You might outgrow him by sixteen. That is when I hear he finally stopped." Julie whistled, impressed, and climbed to the ground.

"I've got a long way to go."

"Better drink your milk," she said. "That should help. It might thicken you out a bit too, little whippet." A joking finger jabbed his rib, causing the child to giggle.

"Will I also get pretty girls to fall in love with me, like Dad did?"

"Of course. They will be tall and slender and graceful."

"You do love him, right?"

"More than nearly anyone else in the world."

Evio's book shop was right below his home, and from his place behind the counter, he smiled at the conversation he could hear between his son and lover. He was happy, even though he knew that Alia's statement was not so much a confirmation, as it was a negotiation.


	40. Drunk Stupid

"Home," she mumbled to nothing, taking off her coat and glancing at the clock immediately inside the living room. Her shifts were almost never regulated. "Too late." Alia stumbled onto the couch and stared at the phone. It seemed a million miles away, but she managed it. "Hey."

"Hi," said a surprised Evio. "It's eleven."

"I know, I know." The girl sighed. "I just got out of the diner. You were probably sleeping, sorry."

"No. Didn't want to break our streak."

"Me neither. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Alia. I love you." She smiled through the phone, uttering a 'yeah' and hanging up, walking back to the couch and reveling in the suffocation of a soft pillow. How long she had spent in the dark before feeling a weight on her back was beyond her, but it felt like only a few minutes. "Welcome home. No Berenice?"

"Not tonight."

"What a shame."

"I know. It breaks our 'goodnight' streak."

"I nearly broke mine tonight," she empathized. "Where is she?" Luck sighed and stood up, waiting for her to sit upright before taking the place beside her.

"She went on vacation," he said. "There's been a family threatening hers and you know how it goes."

"That is no good."

"I've got no idea where she'll be or how to contact her or any of that. She's practically nonexistent until things are handled."

"Are you afraid? I imagine that having connections with her puts you in danger, does it not?"

"It does. I don't mind that, but you having connections with me when I have connections with her." He snorted with a false amusement that only showed weariness. "That's dangerous."

"Well, I do not mind that, so she is the only one left to worry over. I think Evio and Julie are too far down the chain to be hurt, but I will keep an eye on them." Luck snorted again. "What?"

"Big, serious Alia." She laughed.

"Yes. Far too sober. Mister Luck Gandor, you are notably besotted, and smell of vodka."

"Sober enough to think, so I'm too sober, too," he complained. "I've been wondering something Alia. Your hair is red. It makes everyone think you're so bright and cheerful, and you follow along with it with that stupid smile you always keep, but your eyes are blue."

"So?"

"I think you're like that on purpose." Scoffing, Alia elbowed him.

"I cannot help the way I was born."

"No, but I think your parents did that on purpose, if you have parents. You've never talked about them," he crashed down into her lap. "You're so plastic. Sometimes I think you're just a doll enchanted by some stupid magic like, Pinocchio."

"You are almost sinfully honest when drunk. Be kind, now." Her hand ran through the hair on his tired head.

"I forget what I was talking about. Your eyes, right? They're blue."

"They are."

"I think they're blue solely because you're sad and guilty. It's noticeable, you know. When you look at Evio, you look sad, and every time Sudko or Clay comes into the subject, your stupid face immediately starts to look like you just strangled a kitten."

"You say stupid a lot as a drunk."

"That's because everything is stupid, and it gets ten times as stupid with every stupid sip of alcohol."

"Does it not make you stupid, then, to sip from the alcohol?"

"I said everything. Am I nothing now? That's stupid." His face burrowed into her leg. "Don't make me sleep alone."

"Alright. I will sleep in your room tonight."

"Good. And don't listen to that music box."

"Luck, I have not missed listening to it for a very, very long time."

"You're going to miss it now, because every time you listen to it, your eyes get so blue that they turn a really stupid shade of indigo, and I don't think I can take much more stupidity."


	41. Ready for February to Be Over

"Wow, Luck, you don't look so hot," said Firo, earning himself a groan that he returned with an apologetic smile. "Berenice gettin' to ya?"

"Not today Firo."

"Be happy that depression you got there isn't served with a hangover. You got pretty shitfaced last night."

"I'm ready for February to be over. I'm ready to evict Alia and be alone. I'm ready to disappear to the middle of nowhere, just like Berenice," Luck staggered through his speech, Firo half frowning.

"Dunno what to say to ya. When she comes back from oblivion, maybe you should tell her how ya feel," advised the young man. "Ya know, based on how she was actin' before leavin', she'd appreciate your affection."

"I don't love Berenice. I don't. She's just some, thing; I don't know," he leaned back in the chair behind his black walnut desk in clear enervation. "Just forget it. I'm tired."

"You went home around the usual time."

"Sleep has nothing to do with it. I'm just tired."

"Next month'll be better, pal."


	42. The Legend of Mister Big and Serious

By the next Saturday morning, the first one of March, Luck was still tired, and seemed to be taking every chance he could to not be home. Alia noticed. Since Berenice' departure, he had been coming home later than usual, if at all. She had given up on trying to stay awake for his return, and had taken many a day off from work to see if she could catch him stopping by during the day.

Julie, being home-schooled, was left with her those days to be watched after while Evio worked. She found the company enjoyable.

"Really," she asked through a mouthful of cereal. "Your father owns no televisor?"

"No," said Julie. "He reads books. There's no point in the televisor to him."

"I will tell you the truth, I do not watch it. It just looks like a box to me that everyone seems to have," Alia confessed. "But then your father never did like the times. I am curious though."

"Curious?"

"I wonder what cartoons are like not in the funnies or in flipbooks." She carried their dishes to the living room and pushed out the coffee table so they could sit on the floor. It took a while for the odd screen to turn on, and some tampering was needed to be done before it tuned in and the picture was clear on some cartoons. "Have you grown, Jules?"

"I dunno," he said.

"We should take your height again. I think you are going through a spurt." They stopped speaking and shoveled mindless spoonfuls into their mouths.

"I don't understand," said Julie.

"I think that may be the point."

"When I grow up, I'm not having my kids watch this- unless they want to."

"They will be too smart. You are learning lessons from a grade ahead, correct?"

"Yeah."

"They will definitely be too smart for cartoons."

"Dad's smart too."

"He is very intelligent. If only he wrote. Perhaps he does. I hope he does, for he has words I am sure the planet could consider a bless-" the door opened, closed, and interrupted her. Her immediate reaction was to run and hug the one who had opened it; Luck Gandor greeted her with a slight frown. "Aha! I caught you! You thought you could avoid me! Little did you know my job is of no importance to me and I have missed it in order to catch a glimpse of this rare urban legend, Mister Big and Serious."

"Please don't, Alia," he moaned, prying her from him and clambering up the stairs to claim a blink of much-needed, but futile sleep, as Julie padded to the doorway separating the foyer and the parlor and took sight of the scene.


	43. The Way She Likes to Speak

"Dad, I think Alia doesn't love you."

"I know she doesn't," the man informed his son, changing the sign at the front of the shop from 'Open' to 'Closed' and reaching a few books from the shelves. "There's a way that Alia likes to speak. She doesn't lie that much, but she has a good time making people misinterpret her."

"That's mean." Julie frowned. "I'm not sure I like her anymore. She was hugging Mister Gandor. I think she loves him."

"She doesn't love him either," he said, opening one of the books.

"But it's not right."

"No one ever said it was." Evio beckoned for his son's attention on the book. "The fact of the matter is that no one minds the way things are as they have recently been. There's no sense in thinking badly of her. Now, we were on Lesson Thirty-four, right?"

"Of what subject?"

"Arithmetic."

"Yeah, that's the one."

"Do you have the assignments from the past week?"

"Mhm."


	44. The Woman Set Aflame

"Whatcha got there?" asked Berga, silence having burdened the room for a while.

"I just opened it; I've got no idea. It looks like a diary- handwritten." The pages sprawled before him were those inside the worn covers of the books Sudko had entrusted to him during the holidays. They had been neglected by him the past few months as all his time was taken by either work or by Berenice, but now, neither was plaguing him so much.

"A diary? You're reading a girl's diary?"

"I think it's a man's."

"What makes you say that?"

"'This early afternoon marked the beginning of a marriage with no honeymoon, for that the only things required to establish such a relationship are one man, one woman, and one priest, yet no love, and none of such affectionate formalities as a romantic outing with the female now meant to be called my dearest. In our wedding by her town's tradition, we walked to the chapel with one another, and she found a child supposed to be wounded on the edge of the street, leaving me in order to tend to the boy. By this she is meant to be a woman proficient in the area of child-rearing. While, in the circumstance that she may become impregnated, this will be a defining trait in her, I do not intend to produce offspring through the filthy womb of a Southern bitch.' Yeah, it's a man."

"Sounds fun to be around," commented another man in the room.

"Delightful," Luck played along with his friend's sarcasm. "I can see why that little Dods didn't want Alia reading this."

"Alia was gonna read that? Hell. Odd taste of reading."

"She hardly even reads English," he said, leafing through the book. "It begins in 1747." A few men whistled, impressed, or uttered brief crudities, hushing as Luck skipped a few pages ahead. "'In a way, I am glad she and I married. She has a flame unmatched by any woman I have previously met: a fire I should enjoy taming. Only the other day did it occur to me that there is no purpose of our pain response. Pain is the thing which keeps us from harm, and in the worst of cases, death, but, seeing as we, as homunculi, simply rise again, I do not understand the use of keeping the instinct, pain, any longer.

The thought occurred to me when I broke her toe and she cried out, holding back tears. It was an honest accident, but with my way of thinking, it was inevitable that the thought would turn to this.

And so yesterday, I set the woman, who is always aflame, on fire, and she howled until she died, and slept until she rose, and I set the fire to her again, the cycle repeating at least five times over- I lost record.' So, it looks like I get to read four books on how this guy is a sadist."


	45. Never Old

"It is March," she complained, lying down on the floor, Evio lending his bony knee as a cushion. The dreaded month had arrived, and it was fast that she grew tired of pretending it did not bother her.

"I know," he cooed with empathy. "Soon enough, April will be here, and it will be the anniversary of your life here, when you began anew." April was the month she had come to America from overseas, not long afterwards meeting Evio at a time where he only spoke Sicilian. It always posed as the repose to follow its predecessor month.

"No. I only recently began again, in October."

"Am I then a part of your old life?"

"You are a very substantial part of my transitional life, and an important part of my life now," she assured him. "You will never get old." With great reluctance, Alia labored herself into a sitting position in order to embrace him. His grasp was but that of a skeleton.

"Everyone gets old, if they don't die young." The only response was a whine. "Really, Alia grow up."

"There is no use in growing up when no one treats a girl of four-foot-eleven as an adult," she said, happy to change the subject as she turned over to look up at the man.

"You don't act like an adult. That's why people don't treat you like one."

"Perhaps so." A slow yawn stretched her round face as she turned and curled up. "Well, it is nap time."

"You can't just sleep March away every single year."

"Who stops a child from napping, Evio?"


	46. Karl Schwartz' Child's Nursery Rhymes

"I bet it rains."

"I bet it snows."

"It's not cold enough to snow," said Julie, pressing his nose to the window.

"Sure it is. You can see people's breath in the air."

"That doesn't mean it's cold enough. It's going to rain."

"And what are you betting on that?"

"The money in my piggy bank."

"If it does rain, we will count that money and I will give you a payment equal to it from my own pocket," Alia said, and yawned. "Tell you what. I think a nap is in order."

"But it's only noon. Could I have lunch first?"

"Did you not bring any?" He shook his head and informed her that he had forgotten to bring a lunch over. "I will make you some." Her voice held a slight bitterness in itself despite her as she entered the kitchen and turned on the stove. "Will a grilled-cheese sandwich work? I believe we have sliced turkey from the delicatessen, also. Sandwiches are popular here."

"That would be nice."

The small meal was put before him with a warm glass of milk, all of which was devoured with speed.

"I think you are Karl Schwarz' child," she played her words.

"Huh?" Of course, no child of seven years would understand.

"I cannot fully explain. Karl Schwarzschild was really smart with physics and figured out how there could be a tiny area of space that not even light could escape from."

"And you think I am him? Are you.. soft?"

"I am no more soft than you are, young man," she defended herself. "I said you are the child of Karl Schwartz."

"Karl Schwartz' child.. Oh."

"There you go."

"..You're making fun of me again, aren't you?"

"Of course I am. There is a nursery rhyme out there too. I could make fun of you with that."

"Does meanness come with being- what did Dad call you—'vertically challenged?'"

"Oh, yes. All short girls make fun of young boys who approach their height but gain no width. What was that rhyme?"

"I didn't think you liked nursery rhymes."

"I am not so interested in them.. It had to do with whey."

"Whey?"

"A man's wife fed him only whey, no curd, and he grew so skinny he blew away."

"That couldn't happen."

"It is a nursery rhyme."

"Nursery rhymes are weird. Do you know any from Sicily?"

"No. I only know English ones."

"I don't know any of those little songs. I'm growing up with stories."

"Your father never was very musical," she said, finally taking the boy's dishes to the sink. "Though he has quite a selection of books on music theory in his shop, and I have read them."

"Really? Do you play anything?"

"Unfortunately, no. The knowledge has been a waste to me, but I suppose I could buy a piano and try to teach myself."

"If you do learn, would you teach me?"

"Only if you agree that now is naptime."

"I call the couch!" he exclaimed, dashing into the living room.

"Fine by me." she lied down on the floor. "When we wake, perhaps we will find whether it has rained or snowed."

"It's going to rain; I'm telling you."

It rained, and the next day Julie informed her that he was owed six dollars and fifty-eight cents


	47. Even for Permanent Resident Aliens

**A/N:** Three-Thirty AM Post _like a boss. _I'm having fun right now. I somehow ended up looking at this 1939 marriage rating thing that uses merits and demerits to score husbands and wives. Luck and Alia may not get married in the course of the story, but I still think that they would make a hilarious marriage, so I tried it out. Luck got a score or 66- superior, and Alia was a poor wife at a score of 34. My baby is such a bad partner.

Also, celebrating a near-year since Alia's creation. I would show you picture of the baby but nope. Urls won't show up ._.

* * *

"Get out."

"This is a free country, even for permanent resident aliens."

"This hideout is my country as far as I care. We don't go by any law but our own."

"Despite my advice of at least learning federal and state law. It is the only fallback I could think of to racketeering," she told him.

"Off. topic," Luck articulated, trying to nudge her out but finding no use as she avoided his hand. "Never come back here. Go home or somewhere. Don't you have work?"

"I was fired for staying home too much.. and when I gave away my intentions, you stopped coming home at all. It cannot be safe to stay here overnight-"

"It's not safe to be here at all, especially for you. Out," he pointed to the door that would bring her out most discretely. She only stood, though softened her rigid disobedience and brushed a few strands of hair out of his face. "This one isn't working."

"Yes it is. You know why?"

"Why?"

"Because you are looking at the door for now, but when you look over here.."

"Alia," he said sternly, looking her straight in the eye, even bending down in order to do so. All others in the room looked over in shock of hearing the familiar 'click' of a gun being cocked. It took a second or two before she could even realize that it was pressed to her bosom.

"Such an intimate place to put a gun.. By the way, my heart is here," she moved the gun. "If you really want to scare me. There you go. I now consider you a valid threat, if you have the balls to actually shoot a lady."

"Stop with your games, and get out of the building."

"Your manners are lapsing so greatly.. I might have to document this."

"Alia." He pressed the gun more roughly against her chest.

"That is arousing," she joked, leaning into the barrel. "I really do like pressure against my chest." The trigger was pulled, but the weapon did not sound. "No bullets. I knew you were bluffing."

"I figured I'd have to threaten you with something at some point. Really, though, get out."

"You have earned it by amusing me," she said, leaving with a glee no one quite understood. Luck sat back down with the utmost exasperation.

"Why the hell do I live with her?"

"Because ten percent of her company is making us money," Berga piped in.


	48. Everywhere Gets Ugly

Luck waited at the train station with Alia, only to prevent her from having Evio over while he was gone, as he discovered she had before.

"A gun pressed to your chest arousing?" His small talk skills lacked.

"Why not? It was not the gun, it was the pressure. Are you sure Berenice was on that train? Hours have gone by. By the way, I was secretly thinking erotic thoughts of Chopin with that gun to my breast."

"It's only been half an hour. It's a big station and there's a lot to handle. She might have gotten lost or held up," he said as he finally gave in and took a seat on the nearest open bench. Another half hour passed by with sporadic and inappropriate conversation before Luck got up again. "That's it. Stay here. I'll go look for he- oof! Sorry, miss, I didn't mean to run into you. Oh, Berenice."

"Slow down there." The slender woman chuckled and slid gracefully past him, plopping with a little less elegance onto the bench beside Alia. "I tell ya, everywhere can get to be an eyesore after you look at it for too long."

"Where exactly did you go?" asked Luck.

"We were on trains constantly, with breaks only to buy new tickets," she groaned and stretched with feline limbs. "It was pretty fun at times. Boring at others. Agonizing, mostly, but I'm alive and ready to live in a house and not a constantly shaking car. Speaking of which.. Father says that it's best I live with you, since your house gets little attention, just in case there are any remnants of the past situation."

"That's fine with me," he said. "But I would worry about Alia."

"I will stay at Evio's. I have been during nights for the most part anyhow."

"Then it'll all work out," said Berenice. "Work for you, Luck?"

"Yeah."

"Hey, Luck. You know what's fun?"

"What?"

"Gummy bears. You know what else is fun?"

"What, Miss Ristagno?"

"Vodka. You know what's really, really fun?"

".. Are you planning to combine the two?"

"The gummy bears soak up the vodka. Isn't that fun? I haven't been to an actual damn liquor store in forever."


	49. Mrs Sofia and Other Haunters

**A/N:** NaNoWriMo procrastination, yay! I'll let my friends verbally abuse me into catching up. In the meantime, I'll just sit here tumbling. I think I can get the urls so you guys can actually see how I imagine Alia to work, too.

(th07.)deviantart(.net)/fs71/PRE/i/2011/361/0/e/(alia_by_itscarl-d4kgcyv.)jpg

(fc06.)deviantart.(net)/fs71/f/2012/115/f/f/(alia_again_by_itscarl-d4xk63r.)png

The first one is from before I really worked on different body types, so I'd just like to say she's a little heavier and flat-chested. Her hair is also a purer color in the second one, while the first one is more like Sudko's color. Sometime around I'll show you Sudko, too, because he's my baby and I love him so much.

* * *

Evio's home was the same one he had grown up in, with a father who sold Sicilian books in a ghetto of the race, though the vicinity of condensed Sicilian population went down and the sales of the books came to a near stop. Learning English was the best thing anyone in the family could do, and before his father could die, the man had taken over the business and added an English selection to the shop.

Above the shop was where he and his mother lived out the rest of their days- but she killed herself at the shame of a bastard grandson and the sorrow of having been widowed. Her old room was Julie's new, but he swore she haunted it, and opted always to sleep in his father's room. Alia, not wanting to be lonely, also slept in the room.

However, one night she was neither in the room, nor in the late Mrs. Sofia's old place of dwelling, on the date she always took to loneliness over shame. On the morning of March the twenty-third, 1934, they woke without her, and retired without her, and though Julie asked why, and Evio knew why, he did not tell why, and did not much care to imagine her.

Luck Gandor entered the house, chuckling with his Berenice Ristagno, and pulled her along to get just a little more drunk.

"Let's see. Alright, vodka gummy bears in fridge. That's okay," she said, making an inebriated clamor in efforts to open the fridge and withdraw the jar of swollen candies. On the way out she nearly ran into him. "Luck, we gotta stop doing this bumping into each other thing. It's an unhealthy habit."

"I hear something upstairs." They stayed silent in order to listen to the sound from upstairs. "Waltz in a minor. Dammit."

"Huh?"

"Alia is visiting. Wait here," he ordered, climbing the stairs with a slight stagger and knocking lightly on her door before entering. "Why are you here?"

"I dislike being ruined before others," answered Alia. "I believe that is the reason I gave you in November.."

"When are you planning to sleep? It's nearly midnight."

"I never sleep this day of the year." She sported a false smile that broke in almost an instant. "I used to try, but now I let myself be awake." The music box stopped, and she turned the key again.

"You're cheating," the man accused. "You're only supposed to listen once." She shook her head.

"It is my game: my game, my rules, my sorrow, and I tonight I take my freedom to wallow."

"Why would anyone let you do that? It's stupid. It's self-pity, and it's ugly."

"Not pity for myself but for myself that I have lost, and can never get back, the extension of myself who died an unjust death- but not myself- not as I am now. You may never understand, Luck Gandor, but it seems you have seen me already in a shameless condition of mourning whose explanation does not at all satisfy you. I see my reflection in your eyes and it has changed, and I do not care how hideous and true it is, as long as you give me a home."

"This doesn't make any sense. It's the anniversary of something bad, isn't it? I don't want to know," he said, taking her as she walked into his arms. No matter how well so far glee had made itself present in her voice, no matter how red her hair was, her eyes were still blue- so blue, in fact, that they were turning that shade he hated, the shade of indigo uncompromised by diluted value, but fully saturated and grieving. "Just don't cry, and you have to leave in the morning."


	50. Territory

"The last thing I remember is being drunk, and then I remember vodka gummy bears. For a while. And then I remember waking up this morning alone in the tub and getting up, only to see you and Alia sleeping together."

"You say sleeping like we made love. All we did was fall asleep together, we didn't sleep together."

"How would I know that's true? I was drunk."

"Bear, you're just going to have to trust me to be telling you the truth. Aside from that, there's not much I can do to convince you that my actions with Alia were purely innocent," he said. "She was having a hard time emotionally, I guess, so I held her until she managed to fall asleep."

"But you left me in the goddamn tub."

"You should be able to take care of yourself and your drinking." In his vexation, he stood. "It's not like I completely abandoned you."

"Take any more offensive of a stance and I will rob you of your ability to reproduce," Berenice hissed into his face as he sat back down at the dining table and sighed. "Thank you. Having a hard time emotionally?"

"I don't know.. She has this music box she listens to at night. The rule is that she can wind it up, let it play, then put it away. She doesn't ever play it more than once, but last night, it didn't stop until she was asleep, and while we spoke, she informed me that she had been there all day, with it playing over and over."

"So what? It's just a music box."

"It's the music box she listens to when she's willing to let herself be sad," explained the frustrated man. "Nothing she said was really.. coherent.. but I know that yesterday was a hard day for her, and I find nothing wrong with having held her through it." His lover sat down across the table from him and heaved out long, aching sigh.

"As long as I'm living here, I don't want her with us."


	51. Outstandingly Poor

**A/N: **So I just figured out that the story will be 142 chapters again -_-' It keeps changing because sometimes I find that I've written two chapters of very similar points (which is what happened now), two chapters with the same number, or that I've skipped a chapter in numbering. It's all very frustrating, plus I have a friend that's reading the actual document, mistakes and all :D Fun shit. I'll just tell her about it.. Sometime. Damn summer keeping me from talking to people face to face.

* * *

"You must be hungry. I don't suppose you ate a bite or slept a wink," said Evio, moving to the kitchen- it was open to the living room, where she sat on the couch with a tragedy from home.

"I did sleep, actually," she informed him. "I am not certain whether to be pleased or guilty."

"No one was hurt by it."

"I suppose not. Even so.. Good morning Julie."

"You're back!" he exclaimed, hugging her with excitement. "It was so boring without you. What are you reading?" Alia presented the book to him, which he paged through. "Dad was right. Your taste in books is.. what was the word?"

"Outstanding," the towering man answered from the stove.

"Poor," corrected Julie, having taken insulting Alia with cruel truth into his collection of habitual tendencies.

"Giulio!"

"I have permitted him to speak that way to me, so long as he is aware that other women will not take kindly to such remarks," she excused the boy's behavior. "Though it is nice to know your opinion of my reading choices."

"Dad was found out," chanted the high little voice.

"So many faults made clear at once. I think we should be done for the day."

"I agree," said the man of the house, shooting his son a glance from the stern eye of the tell-tale-hearted butler. "How many blueberries in your pancakes, Alia?"

"Nine, please."

"Julie?"

"Ten."

"You mean the number of feet tall you will be in adulthood, Jules?"

"Hey! You said we were done."

"It is not your fault." Alia smiled at the pouting boy until Evio's eye turned to her.

The rest of the day after breakfast was idle chatter, and regular, and so was the day after that. All the remainder of the month was that way, but with her recovering from her yearly bout of sadness, and him pining after the creature he was already in possession of. That month soon left, but his feeling did not. Neither did her denial of the happening of March twenty-third, nor Luck's unplaceable feeling of emptiness. Not even the drunken Berenice Ristagno's infatuation unlatched itself from the psyche of its host, no matter how many nights of desiring her affections to be requited went forgotten in alcoholism.


	52. The Scarecrow Without His Field

Julie was always the last to fall asleep in that tiny bed with all three snug and protected by the covers. Often, he heard his father say to Alia, "Goodnight. I love you." He only ever heard Alia say, "Goodnight."

One particular night, they sent him off to bed before them, but he still stayed awake to listen to the murmurs through the thin walls. The words were nothing, blurring into each other and amounting only to confusion, but they were distressed. He could tell that much, going into the hallway in order to see what was happening.

"Stop, Evio. I am not talking about this right now." Her tone was stern- not the false stern that she usually played with, but a true refusal. To Julie's amazement, his father was crying. Never before had he seen him cry, the paper-thin man who crumpled into a fetal ball on the floor, his back jerking with violent sobs. "Evio.." For a moment, Julie was disgusted with her, until she got on the ground to hold the man with whom she spoke.

It took hours for him to stop crying. Julie stayed where he was, not daring to move no matter how his blood pooled into his position, out of sight but able to see Alia stay with his shriveling father. His father aged in those hours.

"I have never seen you cry. In all the time I have known you, you have not cried once."

"I cried when you left." His voice was crammed in his throat as he rubbed at red eyes. "I love you. I tell you every night and you don't reply. I don't even expect you to. But I expect you to look at me."

"I look at you every day!"

"You haven't looked at me once since returning to me." In both of his hands, marked by protruding, blue veins and large, wrinkled knuckles, he took her face on either side and pulled it to look at him. "Dammit, Alia Zabbo, look at me!" Silence passed. "Just look at me."

"You have grown so old. Why are you so old?"

"Whenever I tell you I love you, I know you're happy, because you need someone who does. They'll never hurt you that way, but you'll hurt them every time they say it because you won't say it back. You won't let yourself love anyone. But I'm two-thirds of my way through life. You won't have me long, and when I leave, what will you do?"

"I do not know," she cried, audibly distressed.

"Exactly. We sit here and I play with the fantasy of your love and you play with that of my life, but the former doesn't exist and the latter will not exist long. What's the point?"

"Evio.. I am so sorry.." She stood. "I will leave you."

"..Don't come back," he requested, looking away. "And leave that piece of your company to someone else."

"I will stay by your first order, but you are not going to escape the company. You have an intelligent boy to raise with the last third of your life. See that he gets into a nice college," she glanced toward Julie with a regretful smile. "Just know that I do love you, simply not as lovers love."

The quiet cast over again as the door closed and the scarecrow stood without his field, kneeling down and picking up his son on the way back to bed.

"I don't get it. I don't get it at all," Julie's eyes shed a few tears. "If you loved her, why is she leaving?"

"I might explain later."


	53. Mistimanchachi

**A/N: **a little story on the name of this chapter. I often find words both in English and other languages and become attached to the definitions, or just the word. I could have sworn I found a word, and I don't think it was English, for the oil swirls in puddles that make rainbows, but, after an hour of internet-browsing, no dice. I found another word though, which amused me. Mistimanchachi, a Quechua word describing light rain in which farmers continue to work, yet townspeople run for shelter. Alright, my note is about as long as the chapter now.

* * *

The sheets rustled under Luck squeezing Berenice for warmth. Early morning's darkness began to waver, but he ignored it, knowing he was not required to awaken at any certain time. For the most of his days, he was an early bird, but it was no good now. It was cold and damp and generally unpleasant out in the car-polluted air, and all the puddles were no good for jumping in like they had been when he was a child- for the rainbows in them were now nothing more than oil. His bed was better, a comfort to him as it kept away the chilly greyness and offered instead feather-filled warmth and a second blanket on top of the comforter for weight.

Berenice, on the other hand, wanted none of the laze, pulling herself from him and adjourned from it to make breakfast, with the promise to rejoin him in the evening. She was often ridiculed for her idea of breakfast: bad coffee made worse with whiskey, but Luck always drank it anyhow, making himself toast to go along with it.

"Oh, Luck," Berenice groaned. "You cannot be reading that book again. It's terrible. Hardly legible."

"It's terrible because it's hardly legible?"

"It's terrible and it's hardly legible."

"I'm in 1753 now. The guy finally stopped setting his wife on fire." Luck put the book down and took a bite of his toast. "Her nerves are desensitized now and apparently, she doesn't hate him yet. I figure she will eventually."

"It's fake," she told him, pouring herself another groggy cup of coffee. "Homunculi, Luck? Really? What are those even.."

"False humans," his voice implied plausibility. "They are created by people, and look like people, except that they aren't completely human."

"Exactly. Not possible."

"Still an interesting story, even if it is terrible," he argued. "The guy is no good, but he makes me wonder what's going to become of the wife by the end of it."

"I guess. Six years of setting her on fire?"

"Five years and eight months- but pretty much. It wasn't just fire, either. During one of the really cold days of winter he sent her out naked and let her die of hypothermia," he said. "And he stabbed her now and then. He said he had plans to prod in her organs, so I guess that's what's next."

"Well, tell me the news when you get to it. Speaking of which, would you go down the block and get the paper?"

"Yeah," he drank the rest of his coffee and washed it down with the last of his toast, then put on his coat and exited the apartment, contemplating subscribing to the paper, even though he did not so much mind a solitary walk each day. After all, he would have been plagued by some constant loneliness any way that he received the newspaper.


	54. Verbally Abusing a Rather Verbal Estate

Straight outside New York in a suburb was the house, built for the forlorn. Its furnishings, appliances, and everything inside it belonged to the previous century. Even the walls reminded her of the style she hated: that of the 1890's, with their canvas covering of damask pattern. She did not so much mind damask in itself, only the particular pattern of it which surrounded her in all places of the home.

This was the house the deceased had left her, in addition to his company. It was convenient, even if she despised it, and offered familiarity, even if she held contempt for that too. In all, she hated everything, even tearing the clothing of the dead into shreds and making fabric dolls with whom to share nothing in particular but mad chatter. Those were her friends and occupation while she was alone in the house that groaned for her love and was never given it, just as any man who ever loved her did.

It cried most, it seemed, while she listened to her music box, and trifled through many a picture or portrait of the deceased. Those pictures, altogether, were unsightly, earning her distaste like the rest of the home and reminding the moaning floorboards of her spiteful feet.

"Shut up, house," she often ordered when the music was over and the photos were too much, before she would look at the clock for the umpteenth time in a small span. As she preferred, there was a clock in each room, the one in the bedroom being her favorite. It was the only in the house to make a very loud ticking noise that one might have found most likely to induce distress to the mind, yet it was comforting to her, posing as a sort of heartbeat that could be counted, unwavering. The clock in the bedroom was the single thing she was partial to in the house where she had no people to distract her, occupy her, or cook for her, and it was not long before that she realized it was the first time in a very long time that she had ever truly been alone. Remembering, she was filled with dread.


	55. Big Hypocritical Luck

Berenice, for all her intoxication, was intelligent, understanding all the concepts behind the texts of Luck's psychology books perhaps better than he did, explaining much of it to him. She used it against him often, making him need to be put on his guard for battle, which was almost always uphill on his part.

"You haven't been out as much lately," Berenice said, her arms draped loosely over his shoulders. "Is something wrong?"

"Nothing wrong," Luck told her, settling his ear onto her chest. "I just worry about you being alone here when people were just after you and your family."

"Big, strong, Luck," laughed the woman, her voice light on dancing feet. "I don't just wait around. I go out."

"To your dad's casinos, which are even less safe," he said, pushing himself off of her and lifting one of his books to read. "I guess you'll do what you want, though."

"Yeah, I will. I have friends out in those casinos and bars."

"I know you do, and I won't keep you from them," his voice slouched over in submission, too tired for and of argument. "But you can't keep me from worrying when you go out like that." She sighed, wondering why she brought it up. Even if the conversation was not heated, it struck her nerves.

"Your issue isn't settled. You know, they never are. Like Alia. Whenever she was near I could just tell you were unhappy with the way that she chooses to live."

"With reason. She even admits that it's foolish, and does it anyway."

"And she has every right to be comfortable, just as I have the right to be comfortable in my father's casinos, and you know, I'll continue to be."

"You seemed to dislike her before, and now you're using her in your argument that I don't even want to be in. I don't understand you sometimes."

"Are you saying I'm wrong?"

"I'm saying you're beyond me and that I've got nothing I want to say against you."

"Fine. I won't continue. For the record, I don't like that she is stressful for you. That's my only issue with her. The fact of the matter is that what you see is that she doesn't settle her issues," Berenice peered at his eyes that did not pry from the book.

"Then I guess that makes me big, hypocritical Luck."

"Well, you know, I like you anyhow."


	56. Shredded Remains of Wallpaper and People

The walls, where they were not marked by craters made by various instruments, were covered by shredded remains of the wallpaper. The rest of that wallpaper lied on the cluttered floor. Also plaguing the floor was- well, everything except the clocks.

Furniture stuffing, photos, and trinkets were strewn about, and the woman cared little to cure her boredom by organizing what of it could be. She napped around and did nothing, until the scent of the house began to drive her even madder than the appearance.

Only a week or two had passed by that time, though she had lost count even with the clocks to assist her in the house with covered windows to keep away the irksome sun. Having been internally wounded over and over, the house seemed to weep even more than when she had first begun to occupy it, earning her curses. To live there was to live in a place painted with the flames of hell, a cause of rampant and incessant tantrums. These were only stopped by the visit of Sudko.

"Hey little half-pint of an ignoramus, where the hell have you been for your landlord to be looking for you at Evio's?"

"Well, I was at Evio's."

"But not while he was looking for you," said Sudko as he smote her forehead. "What did you do to poor Evio?"

"I loved him the wrong way," she said, sitting on the floor with her knees to her chest as she looked around. "I have no idea where you should sit.."

"I'm fine with the floor.. You could have come to me, you know. I don't hate you."

"Clay does."

"No he doesn't. He hates that I am mad, but my madness is a consequence of my own action, not of yours," he assured her as he looked about the catastrophic state of the home. "Though I think your madness may be worse than mine.. You know, the man knew you would do this eventually."

"Of course he knew. He seemed to know everything.. Why was Luck looking for me?"

"He didn't say. He only said that he wanted to see you, so he went to Evio's, and when you weren't there, he came to me, and when you weren't there, I came here."


	57. Young to Have a Child Die

Her bright hair was hidden in a black snood, her dress of matching shade kept with a modest collar and hem, and face dulled and made sullen by powder. Around her was a large group of people clad in similar attire, to a code of funeral dress.

She had never been to a funeral, even as many people as she was close to who had died. It was different from anything she would have imagined. There were so many people around at this one, while she would think mourning was something intimate. Berenice and she did not even know one another so well, but Luck had brought her, and the great Mister Ristagno had allowed it.

He was a people person, not as private as others, and wished not to be alone in what was his greatest loss in life so far, and so anyone who could say "it's a shame," was allowed there to witness the burial of his eldest daughter. All were hushed and melancholy, hardly a person knowing how she had died, but Alia, attached to the arm of the big, serious Luck, was allowed ear on the topic.

"I'm so sorry, Mister Ristagno."

"It's not your fault, boy."

"No. She was drunk and insisted on driving home, but I took a cab. I should have made her take the cab with me."

"So you've been told a story about a car accident, huh? Hell, it was no accident."

"Sir?"

"She wasn't even moving at the time. She was on an empty street driving up near the wall of a building when some guys that have a problem with me purposely crashed into the side of the car. They just kept going at that car 'til she was dead."

"How do you know this?"

"They sent me pictures, an explanation, and a threat to take my heir. If I don't handle what's happening with that family, they're just going to go down the line from eldest to youngest," said the man, his entire person seeming to turn greyer by the moment. "It's not your fault, Gandor. I'm just glad your father was never as careless as I've been, or you might have lost a brother, or your life, just as my daughter has lost hers."

"You weren't careless. This is bad business. It doesn't mean anyone was careless," Luck tried to assure him that it was the fault of no one but the family, but ultimately failed and retired to have a cigarette away from the now dispersed crowd. Alia stayed.

"What misfortune," she said, sitting beside Ristagno. "She was so young to die, and you are young to have a child die."

"Anyone old enough to have a child is old enough to lose one. Come to think of it, you're old enough to have a child, aren't you?"

".. I hope my future does not hold such things for me. That pain would surely kill me."

Apart from the group, Luck joined Keith near a tree and lit his cigarette, taking more ease in the openness of the air, only to deprive himself of it with smoke. Something about collective grieving in a large amount of people made him feel suffocated. The populous taking part in the action had much to do with it, as well. Three people in a closed room crying was nearly as bad as some hundred people in one somber outdoor funeral.

He spared little thought for that, though. His thoughts laid on the subject a short while before venturing other dismal places. Finally, his eyes rested blankly on all the people, observing them all with neither criticism nor favor, until they met Alia and he watched with both such things.

"Stop bullshitting yourself," Keith muttered after he finished his cigarette, rubbing out the ember on the bark of the tree and pushing himself off indifferently into the crowd.


	58. A Black Spot of Near Hate in Her Heart

"I like it here."

"Where were you? Sudko wouldn't tell me."

"I was left a house as well as the company. It is a maddening place," she said, lying beside him in the familiar bed of feathers, playing with a pocket watch she had found there. "Sudko suggested I set it on fire. That would make me happy, though it would make me even happier to set on fire the house overseas that is also mine."

"The man who died must have been wealthy. Who was he, anyhow?"

"Just a sort of relative. He had no one else to give his property to. I did not like him so much, though, and he knew it. I think he purposely set the house for me with all the things that comfort me as well as all the things that burden me, just to see which was more influential over my state of mind. That man.."

"Did you hate him?"

"Well-nigh. I am now here, however, where I can enjoy your company and the orange light. I really like this orange light. It is so comforting."

"That's why I chose this lamp and that shade of paint, though I'd like to move."

"Why?"

"This place is tired, and has gotten too much attention from other families. It's time I went somewhere new."

"Will I be allowed to come with you? I do not want to go back to my house."

"Yeah. Of course."


	59. And Fear Is But An Instinct

It did not take them terribly long to pack, seeing as Luck was low on unnecessary belongings and his study had been in storage. Alia's things were, for the most part, in her suitcase. Those things that weren't were packed quickly. Movers took the furniture into the new home, which was with three bedrooms, a dining room, breakfast room, living room, kitchen, a washroom on each of three levels, as well as a basement for occasional entertaining with a laundry room, and a small yard behind it. By the end of the move both were tired and ready to settle in their new surroundings.

Despite having her own bedroom, Alia stayed in Luck's room for the company. They picked up where they had left off in their routine of reading aloud without understanding a word of each other's babbles, even if her eyes were just a shade bluer, matching those used in Henry Ossawa Tanner's 'Moses in the Bullrushes,' and his were lacking a tint of the golden splendor they once bore, poisoned and alloyed with some dull, toxic fake.

"How are you, Luck Gandor?" she asked in the black of the night that neither slept in.

"Are you really making small-talk at this hour?"

"No. I wish to know. Something is odd about you today."

".. How do you categorize your feelings?" He turned onto his back, and she twisted to her side to face him.

"Happy, angry, sad." The simplicity astonished him; even for her, that it was such a bare system of emotional organization.

"Well, I'm having a hard time deciding whether I'm happy or sad at the moment."

"When I have that issue, I choose to be happy."

"I guess I'll try that then," said Luck, pausing. "Though I think emotions are a bit more complicated than that."

"Maybe yours are, but I have only ever been happy, sad, or angry."

"Where does contented go?"

"Everywhere. When a person is contented, it does not mean they are only contented. It means they are completely contented, and that whatever emotion they feel, they will accept."

"I should just be contented then."

"Yes, you should be. We are in a safe place and have not argued at all this entire month."

"But Berenice is dead and Evio is gone. I would think you would be sad over that."

"I am sad about that, but I am happy about what I just mentioned. I will just feel both things, I suppose."

"Then there was no point in ever having to decide."

"Whether or not there was a point in deciding is for you to decide. The emotions you are deciphering are yours," said Alia, curling into the covers. "I only understand mine when I do not have to think about them with such depth, but I think that you are not contented with yours until you have analyzed them. Maybe your psychology books can help."


	60. The Instincts of Alia to His Ambivalence

The most part of that month was spent with Luck deciding he was going to try being contented. Her advice had morphed in him to be something more intricate and complex, being a foundation that had built him ground for comfortable indifference. At the same time, letting his emotions pass at their will, and ignoring them, was bothersome. Was it rational to dismiss his guilt and frustration, as well as all the relief he felt knowing the safety Alia was in? Perhaps he could not be completely contented, but only contented.

"How's it going with Alia?" Firo was over again at the Coraggioso hideout, sitting down and getting in on the fresh deal of cards on the table.

"Still won't tell me why she and Evio ended up like they did," said Luck. "You wouldn't care about that."

"What's she been tellin' ya?"

"Absolutely nothing. She straight-out says she won't talk about it, just like everything else."

"You might want to get into detail about everything else."

"In all, she has a whole lot of habits she won't explain and all these relations she won't go into. Evio and Sudko, for example. She disappeared on Evio some time ago, and feels guilty for Sudko's insanity, but won't give the reasons on either of those. The man from whom she inherited the company, too. She left that one at being a relative she didn't like. And the habits: she listens to that box, loathes kitchens, and compulsively checks the time. Again, no actual reasons why."

"Maybe she's just a little off herself," said Firo, scanning his cards and waiting for his chance to lay a few down.

"Way off."

"It annoys you quite a bit for you to talk about it so much." Luck smiled and clicked his tongue on his molars, saying nothing more for a while.

He was surprised his face had kept straight. There was a habit of hers that he had not addressed, because it was behavior they had in common. Alia put masks up, and would even admit it. At brief intervals, she let them down, and he never knew whether it was to taunt him or if it was to let go some of the emotions pooled in her that were beyond being categorized with something as straight as sadness. For her, happiness and anger were all that she cared much to show. It was different for him.

His look was always to be collected, and ruthless, and for the most part, that was no unconquerable challenge. Sometimes what he was hiding was sadness, but sometimes what he hid was also anger or frustration or even just a genuine smile. Talking to her, though, he could say anything on his thoughts, and be listened to, rather than criticized for having too much emotion and not enough action in the line of work. He could play with psychology rather than guns, and words instead of fists- living flesh replaced china dolls.

"Her facade does irritate me, but she's not ashamed of it."

"You say that like it's a good thing."

"It has its benefits and its burdens. I guess I'd say that for now I'm contented with it," he chuckled, going beyond his fellow room-occupants' comprehension of his workings. "Yeah, I'm contented. Definitely contented."


	61. Lindy Hop

**A/N: **I'm sure everyone has looked back on something they did and thought, "wow, that was stupid." Well, this whole story is my action to look back on. I'm still posting it because it would be a waste of effort otherwise, but really, things are pretty boring at the moment in the story. It'll only get more exciting... around somewhere. Bleh. Sometime way in the future, September in the story, I inserted a man who isn't described all that much into a couple of chapters. He's my imaginary friend. I thought I'd take this lovely 5 AM to tell you that.

Also, I took MBTI tests, one answering for Luck, and one answering for Alia. I then found out that they are of conflicting compatibility. (This is why I can't write nice things.)

* * *

Within the first week of Luck's contentedness, Alia proposed something just as irrational as the system for her emotions that had come to work for both of them.

"I think we should take dance lessons."

"What?"

"Dance lessons," she repeated herself. He only stared at her, unable to imagine her dancing anything but the waltz, and that was due only to her obsession with her box. On the next hand, he was not much for dancing anything but ballroom dances, and she had not specified what type of lessons she wanted. "Lindy hop could be fun." This, he could somewhat imagine for her outward appearance, if she trimmed down. For himself- he would look ridiculous.

"Lindy hop? You want to learn lindy hop?"

"Why not? It would help me become more fit. Do you not think it would be enjoyable?" It could be enjoyable, he thought, but he still had no way of taking the image into his mind.

".. If you want to."

"Oh, come now, that is no way to be," playfully, she scolded. "If you wish not to, we can choose something else. Maybe music lessons would be better. I have some knowledge on the theory of music, but never learned to play anything." He could, again, imagine that for her, but not for him.

"Maybe you could go to lessons on your own, if you're bored."

"It would be no fun without you. I can imagine you on the piano." Now their minds could agree.

"I can't imagine you on the piano."

"What can you imagine me playing?"

"Something ridiculous and obsolete for the hell of confusing people," he chuckled. "Or the bass fiddle because it's twice your height."

"It is only a little over one hundred-twenty percent of my height."

"Still a lot taller than you."

"Never mind. I do not like music anymore. We should go to lindy hop lessons."

"Whatever you say. I'll join you."


	62. Luck Dolls Up

"Peaceful negotiations," Berga scoffed at Luck's announcement. "Like they'll hold that shit up."

"Not everyone here's like us, you know. I'll go, and if they plan not to keep peace, I'll be the first one killed. It's better than having them where our mortals are.." Luck tugged at the shirt collar of one of his better suits.

"What are you dressing all up for?"

"The head of this gang is an older man who hates the unprofessional conduct of our generation," he said, smoothing the lapels of the single-breasted suit coat. From the low table, he lifted three plain, satin ties. "Blue, green, or yellow."

"Why not red? I like the red."

"Too aggressive. These ones are more friendly."

"Then I dunno. Blue."

"Thanks." With attention to detail, he fastened the tie around his neck, then went to the washroom and looked for a short while in the mirror to make any final touches to the neatness of the outfit, and returned. "There."

"You're like a girl."

"I'm like a man who doesn't want his gang going to war with a gang he has no chance against. If you weren't the one who started this argument with the Candelas, I'd send you, and see how much you wanted to keep things in order."

"Hey! Just 'cause we're immortal do'n't mean we've gotten rid of feeling pain, so yeah, maybe I would prefer a bit of order for once, but I wouldn't doll up like a lady."

"Some conditioning might help with that, actually, but right now I'm busy. I'll see you," he dismissed the threat as he applied an interchangeable square of cloth matching his tie to the black ribbon of his hat and walked to the parking lot a block down the street for his car.


	63. Concrete and Water

**A/N: **alright. I'm going to post this, then I'm going to flip the laundry, and then I'm going to fall asleep at this fine eleventh hour of the morning. Tomorrow, things are getting a little more interesting, in my opinion.

* * *

"Dods," Luck greeted wearily, loosening his tie with one hand and holding the telephone with the other.

"Gandor?" The voice was an appropriate midnight tone of sleepiness.

"Yeah," he said. "Is Alia there?"

"No. She's not that stupid," said Sudko. "Maybe she's setting her house on fire."

"She said she wasn't that interested in setting it on fire."

"Not the one here, but in Europe. She can't stand thinking that place even exists. Could be on the sea this very moment."

"That's insane."

"No, no. She's very good at running away. She disappeared from Evio after all," Sudko leaned against the wall next to his phone as he smiled. On the other side of the line, Luck began to tap his foot. "You aren't replying, Gandor."

"I have no reply. She's not on the sea."

"You're right. She's here with me. We were volunteering- ended up working late. Helps depression and restlessness, you know. Ha, depression. We're in one. But really, she could be on the sea."

"You're absolutely mad," he sighed and shook his head, as if it would rid him of some bustling frustration.

"Yeah.. It's worth it, but don't you go mad. There are only so many people in this world can go mad before there aren't enough rational people to help them. I've got my guy. He keeps me out of trouble when he can," Sudko chimed. "But Alia's just up in the air right now. I wonder who can keep her from a big, horrid splat when she hits the ground, or the water. After all, she really could be on the sea." Luck hung up, and on the other side, Sudko chuckled. "Night, Alia." Her sleeping figure did not respond.


	64. Debating the Dangerous One

"Where did you go?" Luck stood from his place on the couch, where he had been waiting. With him rose his drink, in hand. His voice and his stance were not angry, frustrated, or upset. It was only a question thus far.

"I slept over at Sudko's."

"I called him and he said you weren't there."

"Did he say so?" Did Luck do so?

"He did. He said that you weren't there, but that you had run away."

"To where?"

"To Europe," he answered with the most sarcastic isn't-that-the-greatest tone she had heard from him. Her head jerked back in awe of the voice, and she knew he was on the brink of 'stupid' becoming his favorite word.

"Well, that is silly."

"Isn't it though? Then he said that you were actually sleeping over and that you weren't on the way to Europe."

"So he told the truth eventually."

"Yes, but he said that you could be on the sea." She hesitated to respond to someone who was becoming more difficult by the drop of rum. It was a good quality rum, too- the type you meant to drink slowly but lost track of.

"Well," she finally said, taking a step in reverse to distance herself from him. "I could have been on the sea."

"Are you really so mad that you would go all the way to Europe to burn down a house?"

" At times I consider burning down myself," replied Alia with a slight shake to her head. "Waste no time with that thought. People who think they can support my madness go mad. I became mad supporting a man's madness, and Sudko and Evio are now mad from having supported me. Evio's mother killed herself in part due to her son's madness, and Julie may very well go mad keeping up with his father. Clay may not last long under Sudko's insanity, either."

"You say you are the dangerous one," she continued. "That you are swine and that I could die in your company, but I do not think so highly of death by the hands of other people that I consider it a threat to me. The one who should be worried is you. The frustration I cause you may very well drive you further than from where you are capable of returning." Luck tossed back the last of the rum in his glass, and refilled it.

"That's stupid." He lifted it to his lips, but she took it from him.

"Yes," she said, sipping from it and making her way to her room. "It is very stupid, and unless you leave me to my madness, the stupidity will very surely spread. Goodnight, Luck. I will be more punctual in returning home in the future. If I am not, then I may be on the sea." Alia snorted at the redundant joke as she climbed the stairs and went to bed. Though the subject was something that she viewed as melancholy, she was happy. Volunteering kept her busy and the rum was already beginning to knead at her nerves, and despite her warning for Luck not to lose himself, she was delighted. Perhaps she was delighted because of the possibility of Luck taking the warning, or perhaps she was delighted because she was mad.


	65. Appeared

Dance lessons, as slow as they had begun, had proven to be very enjoyable. The other couples were cheerful, and on of instructors had started everything off with a kind and helpful manner.

Due to this, Alia and Luck were in an astonishingly good mood the temperate night following their class. They walked arm in arm home, and he cooked a nice meal, over which they conversed. It was a simple night with no particularly special event linked to it, or any reason most people would have to make a space for it in the memory. Nonetheless, Alia did so.

"I am going to take a bath."

"You owe me a story then, because I'll be in bed by that time."

"Alright," she said, heading for the washroom.

"In English." Alia groaned and turned around.

"No," she whined. "Reading in English is so slow. Honestly, how do your phonics even work?"

"I'll tell you what, answer me this and it can be your language."

"Answer what?"

"Why is it so silent when you bathe?"

"Magic." She turned again and continued to walk.

"No, really. I didn't notice it right away but now I'm wondering."

".. Will you bathe with me? I will tell you, just.. Bathe with me." After some convincing, he obliged, not bothering with the door as he followed into the jack and jill washroom. She pressed her bare back against the wall before turning on the bathwater, and kept where she was until the tub was filled. Seeing as they were not clothed in the slightest, he did try not to stare, but finding her behavior peculiar, much difficulty was found in resistance.

"What are you doing?" he asked through a light, amused laughter. She humored him in a smile, but sat in the tub without a giggle, pulling her knees to her chest as he joined her.

"Nothing." She flicked some water toward him and rested her chin on her knees. "What are your parents like? Are they alive?"

"Yeah, surprisingly enough. My father kept a close eye on us, and kept us away from his business for our wellbeing. I never even found out about what 'Gandor' meant to some people for a long time. He was sort of the outer shell of protection in our lives, and my mother was the reinforcement that kept us going from the inside. I see them now and then, and it's never a bad experience."

"May I meet them sometime?"

"I'm sure they wouldn't mind that," he said, flicking some water back. "Just don't be too embarrassing." She snorted at him.

"I can make no promises."

"And what about your parents?" Her response was to cower into her knees. She knew that he would ask if she were to ask him the question, but no reply had come to mind while she had begun to imagine what Luck's life had been like. In her mind, he took after his mother. He struck her as such a man.

"I am not sure. With no recollection of parents, and no imagination of them, I just say God made me. At some point, I appeared."

"Appeared?"

"I woke up. That was it. It was no large event. I opened my eyes, got dressed, went about the chores on the small farm I lived on. I have no memory before that point."

"So you think God just created you out of the blue?"

"And I fear that he will take me back. I will never know when, so I keep my eyes open and my ears without distraction as I bathe, and try to be alone as rarely as possible. It is especially in small places that I feel this way."


	66. Counting the Seconds on an Ugly Watch

She sat in his office and tapped her foot on the carpet, staring at her clock and counting the seconds. The numbers appeared in her head by the time she could no longer think the actual words for them before the next second began.

Now and then Keith or Berga would peek into the room to make sure she was not causing any trouble. Berga would mutter some unintelligible greeting every other time or so, earning an equally lazy acknowledgment. Luck was in a different hideout, she had been informed, to her misfortune, as she had no idea where to look. No one knew when he would be back.

The seconds continued to tick by. She had grown impatient by three hundred, and even more by a thousand. By ten thousand, she was nearly asleep. One in the morning was no time for her to be awake, but there was not much of any choice.

After three hours, she resorted to reading, despite his entire selection being in English, and still mostly psychology. He had a wardrobe there, explaining the occasional change of attire from mornings to afternoons. This office was something of another home to him, with the amount of time he spent there, and he had become accustomed, again, to spending late hours out wherever the hell mafia men went. She never fully understood the workings of the organizations. They broke laws to make money- that was about all she cared so much to bother herself with knowing.

Finally, two in the dark hours had turned on the face of her little pocket watch.

"You are so ugly," she began to talk to the gold thing. "I honestly hate everything about you. Even your sound has become disgusting. Another watch must soon replace you."


	67. The Ticking in Her Brain

**A/N: **This is a short chapter, because I hate you. Nah, I love anyone who bothers to read this, but really short chapter. At the same time, tonight's make-up night for being gone last night. I was at a friend's house overnight and she had no internet. Four chapters now, though, just before it becomes tomorrow! XD

* * *

"You know I don't want you here. You're so afraid of God taking your life but it's the men down here who'll do it if you keep going places you shouldn't."

"Right," she said, rubbing a weary eye with one chubby knuckle. "Sorry. This clock is really hideous, you know. You should break it for me." Seventeen thousand, three hundred eighty-two seconds had gone by that she had waited for him.

"You're way too tired."

"No good," she labored herself onto her feet and dragged her feet toward him. "It is already in my brain. Tick, tick, tick. Seventeen thousand, three hundred, ninety- four hundred. Tick, tick, tick."

"And way too insane."

"Ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen.."

"Stop it. Go home already. Take a cab or something, by the way. The streets in this area aren't safe," he pointed to the door, toe tapping with impatience.

"I may as well go home with you."

"Go. Now." Guests would be over, ones he was not so comfortable with. Their ties were tangled and frustrated, and so was his trust in them not to see Alia and use her to start a skirmish that would begin a war. Before she could leave, their footsteps drew nearer, and by first instinct, he shut her in the wardrobe.


	68. The Length of An Instant

"Luck Gandor! You let me out at this instant!" At the instant she spoke of, she lost track of the time she had been counting. Her watch was outside and the sound, as much as she had begun to hate it, was now pined after. She stopped being able to hear what precisely was being said outside the closet, where men took their light for granted as she sat in the dreaded dark, accompanied by the sense of nothing other than loneliness.

She flinched at even her own movements, as they made noise almost deafening in comparison to the silence that had been only compromised by little sounds. The closet became a world all to herself, a world in which she was without any assurance of life. At any moment her skewed thought of God could take her, but that was not the bother.

The bother was far less elaborate than a deity. It was instinctual and associative. She feared the darkness not because it disguised God, but because it was an enemy on its own. It was her worst, if she had to name a circumstance, in the cases where she was alone, and unless God was with her, she was alone then, though if he was, it would be all the worse to her.

Before she could scream again after a time she had not counted, but felt like forever, before she could begin a rampant tapping at the glossy varnished wood whose shine was invisible to her, and before she could start to scratch at the same exit which was her entrance, a long, golden pin carved through the meeting of the two doors, seeming to be a taunting at the beginning, but resulting to be a fully opened welcome back into the world of the light, and the living.


	69. Was, a Letter from War

**A/N: **just gonna rewind a bit to follow Luck like a stalker while Alia's stuck. I rhyme.

* * *

"This office is about to be in use. If you don't mind, we'll use one down the hall," said Luck, leading two brawny Candela men to his brother's office. The light there was not nearly as calming and orange. It held a harsh and unwelcoming grey that created a noticeable look of rigid discomfort in the their faces. "Make yourself at home," He made an attempt to ease them, sitting at a chair across from a couch and pouring them all a settling drop of scotch. "So, Tommy went missing."

"Funny," sarcasm hissed from between the teeth of one man. "We saw Tommy not too long ago. We're talking Michello, right?"

"Yeah, Michello. I take it you know what happened to him."

"Was running 'round on our property, and coincidentally, on the same day we saw him, quite a lot of some of our more expensive product went missing."

"Coincidentally, of course."

"Tommy Michello was bullshit."

"Was?"

"Wait, uh.."

"I think the next words you choose could impact greatly whether you live or die here," Luck narrowed his eyes. "Where's Tommy?"

"Don't go thinking we killed him or anything! 'Cause we didn't-"

"Yeah, so who did? Someone you hired?"

"Well-"

"Get out before I start a war with your damn Candela family."

"..You actually think you Gandors have a damn chance with guys like us," the speaker of the two stood up in an act of dominance, only held back by his silent acquaintance.

"I didn't say anything about the Gandors. My wars are mine, and your life is about to be ended in it," a click assured the men that he was ready by his claim. "Three more seconds determine whether that's true." Within the three seconds, the men were out, Berga watching them down the hall, and Luck giving his brother a brief signal. The men were unconscious with two cringe-inspiring snaps of their necks. A few of his own men dragged them away to Tick.

"Where'd your broad go?" asked Berga in an attempt to distract Luck from an internal rage he had learned to perceive.

"My office," he replied curtly with frost in his throat, smoothing his hair back and entering the room to free her.


	70. Storming in New York and in His Mind

He had taken to the pocket watch she had dropped, sitting on the floor in front of her pathetic fetal display in which her feet rested on the floor, while her back stayed in the casket of a closet. Even his strongest nerve was being worn by her refusal to speak. Her back would only rise and fall with breath at rare intervals, between which she seemed to be holding the air in her lungs.

"It was five minutes, Alia."

"It felt like a century."

"Don't do this." He tugged at her, earning resistance. "You're too dramatic." She only groaned and squeezed him around the middle, near suffocation.

"You dislike me."

"I dislike the way you hold yourself, and the way you're holding me so tightly." By his complaint she let go, but sat before him and ran a hand through his hair. There was a certain sort of unconsciousness in her eyes that was visible to him, like signs of affection were just a habit distracting from some other less wanted habits.

"Please never lock me up again," she said, neither stern nor pleading. It was a simple request that she made to seem deniable, negotiable, and flexible.

"I won't."

"Thank you." A silence drawled after her before on his lips she laid a harsh, desperate kiss that could take his life once and then over again. He tried to pull back, but the more he did, the closer he was to the floor, until he was on his back trying to push her from him. This was the madness of Alia that had put her with Evio, and the art of faces that made love less possible than he could think any amputation would allow.

"What the hell are you doing?" he asked after managing to escape from her. Before she could answer, her arm was being squeezed and pulled up, and she was dragged out of the room. Of course he would be unhappy with her for such a thing, and in hindsight, she was unhappy with herself. Shut out in the hallway, she made a strong note of her mistake, and isolated in his office, he attempted to settle his rambling mind through reading.


	71. Six Things She Can't Explain Drunk

**A/N:** So I guess I got ahead at some point, which I'm alright with because I was at the wifi-less house again yesterday and unable to post again. Now I'm back on track and can post twice a day again. (Stupid summer mind. The only day is SaturFriTuThurSunWedMonday. Nothing makes sense anymore except for tededucation. I watched a man play music into a cockroach leg.)

* * *

"And- and then!" exclaimed a drunken Alia, her words barely decodable. "He walked all around town dressed like a woman while I joined him dressed as a boy. Everyone fell for it!" The men around the poker table, just as intoxicated, laughed and gasped for air as Berga poured her another glass and she took another long drag from the cigarette Keith had given her. "It is no use," she groaned, surveying the table and her own cards. "I am no good at card games. I give up."

Before she could finish her sentence, a hand reached over and took the cards from her, its wrist wearing a watch she recognized. In the time it took her to tell him not to be rude, her drink was poured on the table. "Hey! I was drinking that!" The thumb of that same hand put out her cigarette. "And smoking that." It pulled her from her seat. "I was sitting there," vexation rang, vivid in her voice.

"Everyone else out," uttered Luck flatly, his face with the expression of a stone. They all left, not wishing to cross an unhappy Gandor.

"I was talking to them!"

"Your conversation just ended. I demand an explanation for all your behavior."

"What behavior?"

"Your music box, your addiction to clock-watching, why you hate kitchens, why you blame yourself for Sudko's condition, why you are no longer seeing Evio, and who in hell owned this damn company you use to make sure I keep you around, are all a mystery to me. You give me half-details to everything you tell me and expect me to accept it like it is what it is." She did not reply, withdrawing and holding her spinning head.

"Another time," said Alia. "I feel odd." Met with a sigh, she looked away with shame.

"Explain it now," he insisted.

"Let me sit." Her hand reached to pull out the chair she had been sitting in, only to be blocked by his hand.

"After you explain."

"How many things are there?"

"Six."

"I will explain one thing each month. If you pester me, I will tell you nothing." She had to stare at him with begging, tired eyes for quite a span before he finally acquiesced.

"Fine. Let's go home," He took her by the wrist and led her toward the door.

"It is a spate outside."

"Bear it."

"You will catch cold."

"I think you're in more danger of that than I am. You aren't wearing your coat," and he was glad. That coat did not belong in his workplace.


	72. A Talk of Places People Don't Belong

"There were six things you wished for me to explain, right? Three habits, and three relationships. Relationships first—beginning with the man who owned my company," she said, sitting on the bed with her hands in her cross-legged lap. "The man from whom I inherited the company was an odd one. I lived with him once upon a time, and found soon that he was not all right in the head. He was rather suppressive, and never went by a true name that I know of. Sudko and I rarely address him as anything."

"Why did you live with him?"

"Because it was necessary for my support. I was poor and he was rich. As terrible as that sounds, that is why I accepted him. In truth, he did not take any interest in me either. He was not fond of me, and did not feel any responsibility over me. I was a pet."

"Were you intimate?"

"That is how I say we were related, I am afraid. Now Luck, you must explain just as much to me as I do to you," she explained, leaning in to look the man dead in the eye. "You seem rather upset. What has happened outside that tiny world of a wardrobe?" He hesitated to answer, but her eyes would not let up, and he found no reason in hiding the aspect of his business which most bothered him.

"A man of my organization was recently killed by a family I only just got on good terms with," said Luck, lying back onto his pillow. "I got so angry I threatened to begin a war including me on my own against their entire gang. And don't say 'big, serious Mister Luck Gandor.'"

"I am sorry to hear of this misfortune. Did they give any sort of reason why?"

"They think he stole from them because some of their drugs went missing on the same day they saw him on their property."

".. People have been dying a lot. Do you know which family took Berenice?"

"No." He shook his head, sullen. "Ristagno knows, but he wouldn't tell me."

"This could be my imagination, but could the family which killed your man also have killed Berenice?" she asked, lying down beside him and facing him with an eye of curiosity.

"It's possible, but improbable. A lot of people die and a lot of things happen, and when you try to connect everything together by assumption, you end up with people like Tommy dying and people like me starting battles."

"You are smarter than to create a post hoc argument, however. They are the ones who must be incorrect."

"No one is correct in the mafia."

"Then you do not belong in it."


	73. Global Distrust

**A/N: **if you guys are seeing like twenty million chapter 73's, I'm sorry. My internet is bitchin' in the bad way.

* * *

"Humor me in answering this—Why on earth is there a piano in the living room?"

"Because I still remember a lot of books on music theory I read, and would like to learn to play some sort of instrument. Piano is quite universal and does not require the breath I so quickly become short of, so I thought I might enjoy that," she said as she sat down at the upright piano and played a scale. "There is room for it here, too."

"You're so impulsive when it comes to moving large objects in the house."

"That reminds me that I got us each new beds, and you have a new dresser."

"How did you even move all of that in here?"

"The New Deal has not rid us of all Hoovervilles—I found some nice handymen in one and had them treat themselves to whatever food was in the kitchen."

"Alia," he exclaimed, looking in the kitchen to find it in relatively nice condition but for many cooking supplies in the sink to clean. "They could have stolen from us."

"Have you anything extremely valuable to your sentiment?"

"Not anything of much currency value, or all that close to me, but—"

"Anything they could have stolen, then, would be replaceable, no?"

"Well, yes.. That isn't the point; what if they were dangerous?"

"They were not dangerous," said Alia, joining him in the dining room and speculating on the look of the adjacent kitchen as well. "They were only unemployed. Some of these men are the very same to whom I distribute food at meal centers." He sat in a chair and rubbed at his head.

"You can't trust everybody in the world."

"You cannot distrust everybody in the world either," said Alia, glancing at all the dishes to clean and then sitting beside him. "Even I know that one."

"You say 'even' like you've been in such a circumstance that you shouldn't trust anyone."

"Everyone has been betrayed in some way or another. That is a lesson of life."

"Then you haven't learned it."

"No, I have learned it," she told him. "I have learned that some people are very bad, and that they will hurt others as a pleasure, but I have also learned that some people are good, and will help others as a pleasure."

"Which are you?"

"Neither. I do not feel much pleasure anymore. I only strive to be good, because I know pain and should never wish to inflict it on another." Her smile strode onwards, and as did she toward the front door. "I should get groceries. The men likely took everything they could to their families."


	74. Master in Keeping Childhood Remnants

"I didn't expect you. If you'd called, we might've cleaned up a bit."

"We?"

"My tenant and I. She's really the only reason I afford this place—that way I can't evict her," Luck sighed, leaning back in his chair. Alia took the mention of her as an invitation into the basement.

"No matter how bothersome I become," she said, sitting in the chair but two feet to his left. "These are your parents, correct? I knew you were a mother's child."

"Berga takes most after Dad. Keith and I get to handle our traces of femininity."

"Now, some men would kill to have a baby-smooth face without shaving," his mother told him. "What you don't take from me is manners. No son of mine would go without introducing a lady."

"Zabbo. Alia Zabbo. Sorry Ma."

"I never knew you went for red hair," his father said, rising a laugh from Alia. "Though fair eyes were always in your preference."

"You mistake my tastes," said Luck. "I hate Alia's eyes."

"They are stupid, he says."

"Their indigo freckles- how could I like those?"

"And after all, my hair is red."

"Of course; I could never be interested in her that way. And she could never be interested in me."

"He is obsessive."

"Bossy." He nodded.

"Making me wear coats and pulling me about."

"Even here in June I've been making her wear them."

"He would not let me have my date over."

"Ever."

"Even though I was not at all intimate with the man."

"Only because she is so impulsive. All this furniture is new, and she bought all of it with no word to me. She also had me take ten percent of her company's ownership profit against my will. She says she was not intimate with him but with her quick, reckless decisions, I doubted her."

"Which is precisely why we would be terrible for each other and have kept to a landlord and tenant relationship," Alia finalized their argument against the man's father. "Would anyone like something to drink?"

"Do you have any sort of juice?"

"I believe Luck made some orange juice just yesterday. Did we drink it all?"

"No." The mentioned man stood from his chair. "I'll get it." Alia was left alone with the two others then, looking over their features. It was true that Berga took after his father—his features seemed carved into a rough, grey stone. Mrs. Gandor, however, was with smooth, pale skin and luminescent eyes, her cheekbones lifting them into perpetual marble kindness.

"You're so young," the woman mused, examining her once more. "Why did you decide to move in with Luck?"

"I had previously lived with a very close friend. We lost the place, and it ended in me sleeping in the office of Ronnie Sukiart, who called all connections he could think of, asking for someone to house me. Luck was kind and answered to the call."

"You know Ronnie?" asked his father.

"Very little.. I had only just met him, yet he was so kind to me, like he was responsible for me."

"That's just something you make people want to do, using your irresponsibility and lack of height," Luck said, bringing four glasses of orange juice and a pitcher for everyone. "You're a baby."

"You called him a mother's child but I'm telling you, this was his father's doing," said Mrs. Gandor, shaking her head and taking a disappointed sip of her juice.

"Harsh truth? If I require much of the care of a baby, I believe I deserve it. I can eat on my own, but he cooks, and I have bedtime stories and lullabies, and I am afraid of bogeymen. Why should I not be regarded as a child? His father should be proud, if he raised this into Luck. However, I have witnessed Luck being a child, even in all his authority, like that of the twelve-year-old over the five-year-old."

"Since when am I twelve? You used to be twelve, but then you grew down."

"You have stayed at twelve. That coat you make me wear is from when you were that age. I think you are keeping some of your childhood in it."

"Don't tell me you're terrible with psychology and then psychoanalyze me."

"You mistake me. I am only a master in the art of keeping remnants of childhoods."

"You didn't even have a childhood."

"And yours was obviously cut off a little too early for your preparedness," Alia stated, only realizing the offense she had made to his parents after looking away from him. "Oh dear, I apologize. This was no attack against you. Luck and I argue; we hardly ever mean things by our statements."

"No, no," said Luck's mother, setting down her glass. "It's fine. Continue."

"Why do you make me wear that coat?"

"I'll explain it some other time- next month, whenever you explain whatever you'll be explaining."


	75. Just a Little Bit Enjoyable

**A/N:**alright, some more lateness. I don't even know what day it is... Still Sunday. Alright. I'm really sorry about being completely off-schedule. It's lazy and there's no excuse not to post if everything's already written, but allow me to tell you that the story is off-schedule because I myself am off-schedule. I've become nocturnal, and when I am awake, I want to sleep more because being nocturnal in a diurnal body feels really shitty, so even a task like posting a few simple chapters feels like a chore. This isn't to say that I'm giving up. I'm just telling you, my few readers that are keeping up with this, I'm probably going to do away with the schedule altogether. I'll still post pretty often, just at an irregular frequency.

So, finally, have a chapter.. scene.. thing.

* * *

"There is no doubt in my mind that your parents hate me," Alia said, carrying a large paper bag of groceries home with him. He laughed in return.

"They hate everyone. At least, Ma does. She was always that 'hurt my baby, and I'll make sure your death is slow' kind of mom—Dad called her 'Mother Dragon'- but when we got into those busy teen years, she listened to us. Dad on the other hand, is the impulsive one. He kept an eye out, yeah, but he's quite a bit like you."

"How so?"

"When it came to decisions, they were no problem. He proposed to Ma at a piano recital. What he did is he said he'd be back in five minutes, and somewhere along his way to wherever he was going to spend those five minutes, he decided to buy an engagement ring. He was back at the end of the concert to propose. But secrets—he kept them until the time he had decided."

"They are much easier to tell with planning," she said, rummaging in her dress pocket for her key to the house and unlocking the door, setting the bag of groceries on the dining table while he took the two he had been carrying to the kitchen.

"You have no argument from me on that," he said through the wall. "Don't worry about Ma, though. She'll hate any girl who crosses my line of sight, but get Dad on your side, and she'll stay quiet about you living here, at the very least." Returning to the dining room for the last bag of groceries, he stayed a while by her beckoning.

"Do you want me living here, though?"

"I don't know. I wouldn't say I want you to leave, so I guess I like you being here. You're annoying, but sometimes your company is just a little bit enjoyable, when I'm in your company, anyhow."

"You have not gone to work since that night, so you've been in my company often.."

"I'm avoiding the Candelas while my brothers handle things. It's embarrassing to be hiding from them, bu—"

"What a noble thing to do for their sake," she interrupted, grinning. "After all, they would stand no chance against the big, serious Mister Luck Gandor." Alia stood, feeling brighter than in the moments prior and greeting his light laughter. "Why do I feel an urge to move today?"

"Because you never truly stay still." He poked at her arm with a sneer. "Also because we have dance tonight."

"Is that so? I forgot entirely."


	76. Mamihlapinatapai

A/N: I'd just like to remind people, since we're more than half way through this already, to correct me. By all means, point out my spelling/grammatical errors. I absolutely hate those things, and it's more embarrassing to see that I made one that nobody told me about, than for someone to point it out. I'm stalling though, just do you know. I sort of hate how I went about everything here, but this is actually slightly on task with the RP I based this on.

Mamihlapinatapai- from the Yaghan language of Tierra del Fuego. Notice how I obsess over English grammar and spelling, yet also absolutely hate it. It's bull. Other languages make sense; English doesn't.

* * *

Rather than support the saying that practice made perfect, the instructors of Alia and Luck's lessons said that practice made permanent. Anything one did incorrectly during practice and did not aim to fix would never be fixed. By the time they did want to fix it, it would be very difficult.

So, what better than to make perfection a permanent thing but to practice? The class was an incessant pattern of speech mixed with foot movement. Like the clock, constant rhythm was kept in rocks, kicks, and steps, except that it was nowhere near as slow as seconds. The tempo was raised from exercise to exercise by the female instructor's order, as she watched with a critical eye toward every male dancer, just as her male colleague kept an eye on the women.

The students were let out for air during the last half, as each couple was one by one taken by the opposite-gender instructor and made to dance. Waiting for their turn, Alia and Luck sat on the concrete, panting slightly.

"We are off today."

"Yeah, it's weird," said Luck with a glance at her and a look away. "You're not too fatigued, are you?"

"No," she trailed, watching as the first couple to take one-on-one instructions switched off with the next. "I am not so tired- only a little breathless. Are you alright? You seem distracted."

"You do too."

"I am. I want to go home."

"I do too.. We'll have to wait."

"Mister Gandor and Miss Zabbo," called the female instructor from the door, her voice bland and official as the two stood, Alia brushing pebbles from the back of her loose skirt. She took the hand of the more easygoing instructor and by command began to go through each of the exercises that they had been practicing, gaining criticism on her step and lack of focus, then it was back outside with the rest of the group.

"What shall be for supper?"

"I'm not hungry," replied Luck.

"Neither am I. Who is reading?"

"I'm not in the mood for stories."

"Very well. I would have been the reader anyhow." Chatter continued until the last two people had been given instruction, and like every week, their instructor informed them that she would be watching for improvement, so Luck and Alia tried to concentrate on each other's feet, rather than each other's everything else, and took care to follow their specific directions. Within another fifteen minutes, Alia found herself tripping, much to her embarrassment as she clung to Luck for support.

"Go out again for air," said the lenient instructor as the stern lady kept tightly pressed lips and eyed Alia out, Luck following for his new uselessness.

"You pulled on me." She pouted. "That was humiliating."

"A little humility now and then won't hurt you," he said, pulling on her again with a playful leer.

"Hey!" A moment's resistance faded fast into realization, her arms willing themselves to wrap tightly around him.

"See, it doesn't hurt—" He squinted an eye as she squeezed harder around his stomach and he was forced to lift his clavicles to breathe. Even so, he held her back, happy to reward her latest reasonable behavior. Impulse may not have escaped from her, but her eyes were gradually becoming truer. Her smile was coming easier. Handling her was becoming habit as she was more and more willing to be handled, and he had stopped questioning her as he had been promised answers, willing to handle her. "Class is about to end."


	77. Life: The Game She Plays Poorly

By the time they were inside the house, impatience had taken over them. All the way there, they had been clutching each other's hand with excitement.

He pushed her onto the couch and pressed onto her playfully, nipping at her neck as she hummed. "We will ruin the couch," she said, hanging on for dear life as he lifted her up and moved to the dining table, their lips caught together while he removed her coat. Her breath was cut short by his cold hand on her leg. Both of them knew what would happen.

Both of them knew it was only a matter of time before they were sprawled out in a disgusting tangle on the mattress, sheets strewn, crying about them. It was inevitable that the very moment after each had gained their pleasure and all was over, they would be trying to untie from each other and the mistake, but they continued to kiss. They went on with the embrace that confined the lungs to desperation and his hip grinded against hers as she lowered his suspenders and stood.

Something near the type of a skip was in her step as she led him up the stairs, and it was his room into which she danced and turned around, meeting him only inches behind her.

Both of them knew it was only a matter of time.

He crashed into her and pushed her onto the bed, his hands wandering from place to place before unfastening the buttons of her dress. Their kiss broke as he pulled his shirt off, a button or two lost by his hasty actions just as a sway took over his hips. They joined again and went on, making no eye contact with each other, until finally he refused to let her get away with looking into space.

"Alia."

"Hm?"

"Are you sure about this?" Her eyes narrowed and her brows furrowed and he had no idea what to be prepared for, though her response was nothing close to what he would ever have come even close to considering.

"Of what am I supposed to be sure?" The more she wished to look away, the less she found the ability. His eyes bore into her incredulously as he retreated from over her. She began to button the front of her dress as he spoke.

".. Is this all really just a game to you?"

"Perhaps. I am told that I play games poorly, so it could be that life is simply the game I am best at losing."

"This is funny to you."

"There is no smile on my face," denied Alia as she collected her music box and book.

"I don't trust your expressions anymore. Hell you smile when you're sad, why wouldn't you frown while amused?"

"Am I a joke?" Her insulted pitches growing higher as she resisted urges to both take him tightly in her arms, and smite him.

"Am I? Because you sure are laughing it up in my face right now. It's not really love-making with complete lack of compassion for your partner," he said, redressing his torso. She remained silent for careful consideration, his foot tapping as we awaited her decision of words.

"I apologize. My reply to your question was inappropriate, but if I was to say that I was certain, then what?" He did not answer. "Then we would be landlord and tenant taking part in scandalous fornication that was brought on by the landlord's lust and affection and the tenant's numb compliance. I feel nothing romantic for you. You are a handsome face and a benevolent man, but you are not my lover, and given that I hated one of my lovers and broke the other, I am glad of that."

"You say you hated him, but I think you miss your beloved husband." Spite poisoned the man's tongue, pushing her an astonished step backwards.

"Goodnight."

"Are you sleeping in your room?"

"No," she said in a flat tone, rushing down the stairs and picking her coat up from the floor. Before he could follow, the door had shut, and by the time it had, he had no interest in going after her, lying back on the bed with legs over the edge.

"Dammit, Alia." He clutched his forehead in frustration.


	78. If All Else Fails, Check the Atlantic

"Turns out the Candelas are the ones who got Ristagno's daughter," said one of the men at the poker table. "We're probably gonna get swept up in that war regardless, but you didn't start it, so you're back in business."

"Lovely," said Luck, leaned back away from the game. "We're not in it yet, though?"

"We're staying away from it as long as possible, and Ristagno wants it that way."

"So we're staying off of the turf of the warring gangs," he determined. "Aside from those territories, I'd like people looking for Alia."

"She's gone?"

"Yeah."

"You have any idea where?"

"No. I don't think she has her house anymore, though," the man explained, thinking back to the newspapers a few days ago, where he had read that a house had burned down. "So she's probably in a hotel."

"What'd you do?" asked Berga, making Luck look away in shame as his brothers looked up from the cards. "Doesn't matter. We'll find her."

"Even if probability has it she's in a hotel.. Never mind; we'll check hotels," he shook his thoughts of her being on a ship to Europe away and stood, leaving.


	79. Unlike Luck

"It's gotta be the heat," said Firo, thinking over the information Luck had given him of Alia's disappearance. "When it's hot out, people get a little off."

"This is like her."

"It's not like you, though. Look, give me the specifics. Don't just tell me that she did something stupid and then you retaliated with a stupid comment again. What'd she do? What'd ya say?" Luck sighed, continuing his walk to the next hotel on his list to search.

"We were getting intimate.."

"I knew it'd happen!" cheered Firo before sneering humorously. "So how'd ya fuck it up this time?"

"I asked her if she was sure about it. Most of the time the girls I associate with find that courteous the first time around, but she didn't say yes or no. She asked what to be sure about," he explained. "I expected her to understand what was happening, I guess. It was a disappointment to figure out it wasn't actually going to go anywhere from there. Didn't have to be love, just.. something."

"Didn't know ya liked to wear skirts, pal." Luck elbowed him with an amused grin.

"Anyhow, I told her I suspected her of missing a previous relationship. It was a bad move, especially considering he's dead and she hated him," continued the slightly uplifted man as his friend winced. "I'll be apologizing a lot for that."

"D'you know how the guy died?" Luck shook his head.

"No idea. I don't care right now. Right now, I want to find her."

"Well, we're working on it," assured Firo, adjusting his hat by the brim. "Don't worry about her. She's an adult capable of taking care of herself."

"You'd be surprised. We slept in the same bed and took the same baths because she didn't like being alone, and she's given reasons as to why—the fact that she's afraid of something quite close to monsters, and her contempt for her own mind. Those things added, she's probably a ball of both fear and hostility. When I said I think she lost her house, I mean that a house burned down not too long ago, and I think she's the one who did it, seeing as that's what we spoke of last time she was living on her own.. I shouldn't bother you with these things. We'll find her."


	80. A Few Blocks

Alia lied down on her stomach in the hotel bed, propping her torso up with her elbows as she tinkered with a pair of reading glasses and looked over a book. It was in English, to her dismay, though she had expected it to be. "Should have burned that too," she muttered to herself, pulling at the binding of the book and ripping it to pieces before running the bath and dropping the pages into it. Dust and ink swirled around in the water as she returned to the bed, coat pulled around her.

The next things to examine were photographs. She was there on the paper next to her late husband. An official divorce had never been made, and so in all technicalities, she was a widow, even if she felt nothing like one. One of the pictures taunted her to tear it apart as well, but she simply pulled out the turnkey to the music box and unlocked the small drawer inside it. That dreaded picture found its bed in that drawer with the rest of the pictures, while a painting stayed in her arms. She held it over her head for speculation, running her eyes across every stroke.

It showed her in a bath on a kitchen floor, knees to her chest and feet on the edge of the metal laundry tub. She could remember her housemate painting her in the small house they had to themselves, as her husband lived in a different house, and recalled the thoughts running through her mind. Some were of hate, and some of sorrow, some of liberation, and some of confinement. There was no true way to label them all in one word. Even more, she could not define the look in her eyes at that time. It portrayed none of her thoughts, but a person stripped completely of character and given the most basic criteria of a living thing. Her eyes were those of an infant, yet curiously romanced the attention being given to her by the woman living with her.

She wondered if she was to destroy this as well. Would it be vain to keep it? No, she hated her expression, no matter how much it provoked her thoughts; in fact, it was the way in which it did so that she hated. However, that a dear, and unfortunately gone friend had been its creator, a sort of mother to the painting and to her, made her regard the canvas and oil with affection.

As the phone rang, she rolled the unframed canvas to shake all distraction, and answered hastily.

"Hello?"

"Think you can walk a few blocks?" Immediately, she hung up and shoved the canvas into her suitcase of clothing she had gotten from the now ruined house, running with her box into the lobby to see Luck waiting by the desk for her. She nodded at his question and left the key and payment before leaving as quickly as she could.


	81. As a Harmful Entity

"She burned her own house down last month," Luck informed Clay, taking a sip from the coffee he had made for the two of them. They often spoke of the tiny people that they lived with. While Luck found it odd and slightly discomforting that Sudko and Clay were romantically involved as two men, he tried not to be judging of the lifestyle. Both were fine people, as he could tell, even if unusual. "Does he do such irrational things?"

"He actually convinced her to burn the house, and yes, he is frequently irrational. I caught him attempting to amputate his own hand not long ago," he confirmed. "Such tantrums aren't uncommon."

"He usually seems so composed, though."

"Yeah, and Alia seems bursting with life. Those two have different problems but handle them the same way. She hides the fact that she's nothing but an empty pit of a person by cancelling her sadness with the extreme opposite: oversold glee. He hides the ceaseless, overflowing chaos that is his mind with a look of serenity and official posture that could fool anyone he wishes. Both of them, while alone, will completely slump into their madness, though. That's why they try to be alone as little as possible."

"But you witness these tantrums. And Alia has admitted on several occasions to her woe."

"Then they love us." Something in Clay's voice was blunt in being unhappy about this. Love was meant to be a good thing, but his tone manipulated it into something unfortunate.

"Is that bad?"

"No. I value Sudko's love more than anything in the world. Hell, if I ever failed to support him, I'd go mad too. That would be bad," he said. "Not because I fear madness. I could handle not being able to handle myself, but I could never face the fact that if I were no longer able to keep after him, he would shed me like dead scales. That would quite literally kill me."

"You love him too much for that to happen." Unable to fathom Clay becoming so unstable that he would do something like burn a house down or cut a hand off, he shook his head in denial. The man across from the coffee table smiled.

"You're right. It isn't a problem that will soon surface." A frown suddenly took him over as he observed that he was covering his primary worry with optimism, just as Sudko masked his discord with composure and Alia hid her depression with enthusiasm.


	82. Consideration

Her return had been a few days prior, and she had thought thoroughly of the consequences of having been gone; there were none. Things continued as they had been. She was sleeping in his bed again, and they took the same baths. They spoke nothing of the fact that any sort of upset had occurred.

"It seems you are no longer angry."

"I find it hard to believe you weren't upset with me after what I said. It was uncalled for."

"No, it was called for. It was not respectful, nor was it a correct assumption, but it was called for," said Alia, poking at the meal they were having at the same table. "How many times, however, will this happen? After Berenice died, we continued life as if she had never lived, and after I kissed you and you called me out on unnecessary reactions that I would not explain, that very morning, we were sleeping in the same bed. Now it has happened again, and I am wondering how many times more it will."

"The way I see it, if you were my lover, it wouldn't happen again."

"Do you really want me as your lover?"

"We practically are in that sort of relationship, you know. We sleep together, eat together, bathe together, and I regard you with affection, even if you don't return the feelings," he said. "And the way you're speaking, you want something to change. If you continue living here, you're going to be my inamorata, and if you aren't going to be such a figure, then it's only logical that you would stop living with me."

"I suppose that would be logical, only I have no idea what to do."

"I don't know how to help you choose. It's your decision," Luck said as he finished the meal and put his plate away, then sat in wait for her to finish. "From the look you've got, I'd say you weren't being entirely truthful in saying you felt nothing romantic for me. Then again I might just not be used to rejection."

"I have practically built a religion in which all people must love me and I must love no one. You can see how it would be an issue to consider even the foundations upon which love becomes built, can you not?"

"You do consider?"

Though with hesitance, she proceeded, "Yes. I consider."

"Then that should be enough.. Your food is getting cold, you know."

"Yeah, yeah." She took a hardy bite from her plate of scrambled eggs. "I will be your stupid girlfriend, since you are saying we are already so close to being in that relationship, but what I cannot see is why you would even bother yourself with me."

"You don't have to be my girlfriend. I would really like you to be; I enjoy spending time with you, even during many of the arguments, and I find your extraverted ways to be a good counter to my more introverted ones, but you aren't obligated to be."

"Well, the way it has been said, it is only a title put onto the position I have been playing, a title which can add certain benefits. So, it is rational, and given the fact that I am considering accepting the affections I have mentioned, I would be a fool to turn down a man who proclaims equal or greater such affections for me," her orange lips uttered as she took another hurried bite.

"And you're certain you'll take the title?"

"Yes." A nod accompanied her speech.

"Then I'm off to work. They're letting me back," he said, giving her a peck on the cheek that caused her to smirk.

"Your hat," she reminded him before he left.


	83. Secrets Sighed in Sicilian

His head rested on her stomach as he looked ahead blankly, listening with care to her mingled Sicilian tongue. He pondered how she could make her mouth move in such ways at a few moments, then over what she was saying. Was she really reading? It sounded so natural that for all he knew, she could have been speaking of things he had no knowledge of—things that had happened to her, feelings she felt that she would never dare even mumble in English. Now and then a laugh slipped into the context, where she found amusing dialogue and wordplay that went straight past his American ears.

"What are you saying?"

"Extremely secret things," she joked. "Maybe sometime I will tell you the entire thing. I do hate abridging these tales."

"Alright."

"It is July now, I believe. I think I am due to explain another thing to you. Perhaps I should explain how Sudko became the way he is now."

"You don't have to right now, if you don't want to."

"It will be fine. Best to get it out of the way before I forget. My husband had a way of tormenting people that I cannot entirely explain, but it drove me to where I am now. I used to have two other friends that were much like Sudko and I, but they died."

"How?"

"They disappeared; we had no idea right off. It was with these friends that I lived after separating from my husband. We never officially divorced. After our two friends passed, I relied solely on Sudko. We lived in a tiny shop and hardly ever got away from each other, and eventually the effects of my companionship became a heavy burden to him, and he went insane."

"That doesn't quite explain how you drove him to be so. I mean, what'd you do? Were you episodic?"

"No. My husband walked in one day. We had expected it to happen eventually, and I always thought that I would simply kill him. His death was meant to be my responsibility, but Sudko took it. When we found out he had a will and that he had been here for a while writing it, we pieced together that he had killed our friends, and that he had entered the shop intending to be killed. It changed Sudko to the way he currently is," only speaking of Sudko and her other friends did she vocalize any remorse, as if her husband's death would have been casual if enforced by her. It was almost frightening, seeing as he was now involved with her, though he felt safe as an immortal, and knew that her husband must have wronged her in order for her to be indifferent toward ridding the world of him. "I am sorry if this information bothers you."

"It doesn't. Just promise me you won't ever marry another jerk like that." She smiled as he lifted his head from her stomach and wrapped his arms around her.

"I promise not to."


	84. The Oddest Observations

"A picnic? Really?"

"I like picnics. Well, I have never had one, but they sound enjoyable. We should go to a playground that has lots of grass around it. I think I saw one near my house."

"I have to go to work."

"Do you have to?"

".. No, but people prefer when I do." He looked at her hopeful eyes that made him less want to have a picnic and more want to stay home entirely. "Stop that."

"The basket is packed and everything!"

"I wondered why you asked me to make sandwiches."

"We could stop for ice cream. You strike me as a vanilla man." She raised her eyebrows persuasively. "I like vanilla too."

"Stop it. Seriously, stop it."

"We do not even have to go to a playground and all that. We could have the picnic here."

"What?"

"In our room."

"It's my room."

"I sleep in it."

"But it's my room," Luck protested. "And you'll get crumbs all over the place."

"We could always shake the crumbs off the bed and then vacuum."

"The bed? Who has picnics in bed?"

"I do." She got into the akimbo stance he had missed over their troubled times and looked at him with determination. "Picnics are magnificent."

"We're not having this picnic."

"Yes we are, because I want t—what are you doing?" Alia looked on in terror as Luck opened the picnic basket and unwrapped a sandwich from its foil and took it upstairs. "No!" she whined, following and finding him sitting in bed as reading one of his psychology books with the sandwich in one hand.

"The sandwiches will go to waste, so I may as well have one for breakfast."

"You are peccant," scolded Alia while sitting on his lap and trying to take the sandwich from him.

"Yep," he agreed, studying his book and finishing the sandwich before she could get to it. "What's that look?" Her face had gone blank, eyes peering at him as they skimmed over his features.

"What look?" asked her absence as she manipulated his figure, lifting his shoulder from the bed to look at his back, then turning his head to the side.

"Come on; why are you so weird today?" Tightening her lips, she stared into his eyes, bringing their faces close.

"I am only looking at you. You ruined my picnic; you could at least indulge me in learning you. I have been meaning to for about a week now. You have a dinosaur spine."

"Thanks." Against his own hands trying to stop her, she began to undo the buttons of his shirt. "I don't have time for this, though."

"Sure you do. I like your umbilicus. I wish I had a nice one. Maybe one day doctors will find a way to cut umbilical cords so that there is not such an obvious scar, and people will not have them."

"You make the oddest observations. Do you usually do this and just keep it from me?"

"Yes," she nodded, swirling her finger around his bellybutton, which had thin, light brown hairs growing around it in the spiral pattern she traced. "I have studied Evio. He was much more compliant. I could see nearly every piece of his thoracic cage through his skin. I only see a couple on you."

"Yeah, I bet you chose to study him and point out all the aspects of his anatomy at a much more convenient time. People are going to complain."

"I can complain ten times as badly as your workpeople can altogether. You have hardly a hair here," was her remark on his underarms through giggles. "Do you shave?"

"No. My mother has very little amounts of body hair. I take after her, remember?"

"I think it is cute."

"How into detail are you going to get?" He squirmed, trying to get away as his patience ran thin.

"If I could, I would study you down to each detail of your viscerocranium. Sorry if that seems morbid."

".. So how far would that be?"

"Everything outside you, I will be studying."

"Everything?"

"All things."

".. You better not torment me."

"Worry not. You may have what you wish once I finish."


	85. Half of a Correct Assumption

**A/N: **This day is getting a lot of writing, I'll admit, but it's an important day in its own way, I guess. I actually can't remember if I did this on purpose or not, but there's definitely no shortage of events- not to me anyhow. I've realized this story may be boring to others because my humor is.. odd. I'm amused by repetition (and sometimes suffering.)

* * *

"Someone got lucky this morning," commented Firo as Luck walked in. "You have a date or something?"

"Ah.. Not exactly. I could have had a date: a picnic, but I ruined it."

"How?"

"I ate the sandwich before we set out to find a playground with a field."

"Then what has you so happy?" asked Firo.

"You were right about half of your assumption." He sat down to the table of men and poured himself a drink. "Ruining picnics apparently makes time for being studied in detail. Much detail. Detail I didn't know was studied by people who aren't doctors."

"I don't understand."

"Alia wanted to have a picnic."

"You never told us you two were getting friendly now," Berga objected the new information. "How long's that been going on?"

"A week and a half, I think." Silence took the room as the men stared at him questioningly. He was especially focused on his drink until glancing up and finding their eyes on him. "Oh, she performed well," was his only comment. While he had enjoyed all of it, even the saccharine smell of her skin close to his nostrils, he had noticed the fact that she did not seem to take any pleasure in the activity physically. More stares protested his dearth of enthusiasm. "Stop that or I won't feel so great about it. How is the Ristagno versus Candela feud coming along?"

"Ristagno is still leaving us out of it, but things look bad. In a while we might have to get the Martillos to give us a hand and get our mortals where they won't get hurt." Luck broke from his potation to reply.

"Where'll that be?"

"Who knows? We need to figure it out though before shit hits the fan," his brother asserted. "We being you."

"Hell.."


	86. Hours Late or Early, All the Same

"You do not look as happy returning as you did leaving. Are things troublesome at work?" Alia greeted Luck home with these words and a tight embrace.

"I don't feel like talking about it. That picnic would be nice around now."

"The hour is so late, though," she said.

"Yeah, and the hour you had chosen was so early. I think it's the perfect time for picnicking."

"You have to make more sandwiches, then."

"Alright," Luck said, not bothering to remove his coat and hat as he slapped together two sandwiches and packed them, foiled, into the picnic basket. "We should bring a lantern."

"That would be wise," said Alia, taking up the basket and running to the car as he fetched their light source. He followed after to find her in the seat.

"Move over," he ordered.

"I refuse. Hey, come on now, no shoving!" She flinched a bit as he advanced, only to find him lifting her as though she weighed but three pounds and setting her on his lap.

"Said you'd like to sit on someone's lap to drive. I might not be your husband, but I think being your boyfriend is enough. Alright, ten and two," he said, making her place her hands on the wheel, but keeping one of his own hands there to guide her as he switched gears and backed from his place of parking. They proceeded to drive, moving out of their dim neighborhood into the bright lights of the city, then faded back out as they found her suburban vicinity. "That was your house?"

"Yes, and it died as it probably wished. I would hear it moaning for repose that only the grave could bring, I simply know it." Spite and affection both showed in her that he did not expect: something that matched his tone of arriving home.


	87. Only Anything

**A/N: **WHY do I hate posting so much? I just... it feels like when I'm done posting, that's when the story will really be over... And that _sucks. _How come things always have to end? It's not fair.

* * *

The couple looked up at the endless blue with white holes poked through, speaking of nothing in particular as they neglected their food and ignored the lantern. Shunning the blanket to put under them, they risked the grass stains, using it as a pillow all folded up. "I never see the stars these days. The city covers them up. Nothing like smoke and light to ruin the sky. This is nice though. I missed them."

"When I woke up in the Sicilian country, I would go outside to milk the cow, and once, she cried so early that the stars were still out. I do not believe I could convey to you my confusion. I had not the slightest idea what stars were. Never before had I seen them, or been told of them. Could they have been eyes watching me? Was the sky on fire? Were little bits of metal or gem stuck in it? I thought of so many reasons for the stars to be there, and I did not even know a word for them, until I told a neighbor a few miles down with whom I traded about how odd they were. She was just as confused by my awe as I was by the stars themselves, and said to me that they were only stars. 'Only,' was her dismissal. I could not believe it. How could something so magical be 'only' anything? Now it is so simple, but I wonder if infants look up and see the sky that way." Luck turned his head toward her and examined her eyes, which were less blue now than indigo, but reflected the sky and all the stars dangling there in it.

"You're so odd today. Picnics and studying and stars. Hell, this is a whole new person."

"No, you are seeing an old person. These are prototypes of me that I am fonder of."

"How are you feeling?"

A pause was allowed for consideration. "Alexithymic," she finally announced. "I am feeling alexithymic. Perhaps. How many words do I know? I do not think the ones of English I am aware of suffice."

"I don't know; how many words do you know?"

"Too many to sort through. Two things come to mind. Saudade is Portuguese. It is the feeling of mourning for a thing or person you love, but have lost, and in Russian, there is Toska: a striking agony or emptiness, a spiritual tribulation without any known reason. It feels terrible, yet at the same time.. I am contented."

"Where have you learned all these words? Anatomy words, words of other languages, someone must have taught you. It was him, wasn't it?"

"I learned the anatomy words from that man, yes, but the words I like from other languages are ones my friend taught me. She was a lovely woman, and I keep her teachings close, just like I have been holding the knowledge of the word 'alexithymic..' Hey, Luck."

"Huh?"

"I got out of wearing that coat without you noticing." He groaned with complaint as she moved off her back to straddle his abdomen, looking down at him. "Now you must explain to me, the story of that coat, or I will not go back home with you."

"I thought we got over your temporary moves."

"Not at all. I live as I please. I could always sleep in my room, though. Either way, you will be just as lonely falling asleep." His lighthearted chuckle provided some hope of being allowed the knowledge of the coat's history.

"Alright," he said as he transitioned into a frown. "I'll tell you. When I was a kid, I went to see this magician. Back then, magicians were as unexplainable to me as the stars were to you when you woke up. I was filled with excitement to see that show, until it was announced that the show was canceled. I asked my dad why, and he wouldn't tell me. He said 'when you grow out of that coat you're wearing, you'll be big enough to know.' I wanted to know so bad that I would often say that the elbows were getting too tight for me to bend, or that the boys at school were making fun of me for the coat coming too high up on my leg." His tone was steady up until finishing the story in which his father had made him wear the coat for as long as possible. He was forced to wear it until his bar mitzvah, and then he was told why the magician had not made the show. "My father killed the magician for the money he owed. I'd never even known my father owned a gun or was capable of doing such a thing, but he told me, 'now that you're a man, you're responsible for your actions, and for the family.' And he started introducing me to the workings of the mafia, until I was sixteen and he decided I was ready to try my hand at it."

"Then why do I have to wear it?"

"Because, until you've grown out of it, you're not allowed in the mafia's business." She furrowed her brow and rested her head on his shoulder.

"I am finished growing, though."

"Precisely."

"There is another one of your favorite words."


	88. The Dance of the Suicidal

**A/N: **It's a new day! (Technically, the joke is "today is a new day," but I doubt my friend, Florence, will ever read this, because she's not exactly that into Luck. All the same, this author's note was in honor of Florence!)

* * *

"Is he insane? He'll get himself killed," said Luck as he looked over the invitation.

"These are only to us three out of the gang, plus the Martillos. I think he knows about us."

"Yeah, well, he won't do anything about it, but that explains why he wants us there." His eyes continued to study the card, almost expecting to find in the tiniest of print 'just joking.' Even with a bunch of immortals there, the fact that Ristagno would hold a dance and invite some of the most important members of the Candela gang was one that he was unable to bring himself to accept. "Hell.. August eighth, then? Why would he throw a party on a Wednesday night?"

"My thought's that the Candelas chose the date so less people would be there to block them from Ristagno," Berga supposed.

"Makes sense.. We're going, and staying close to Ristagno. How many of his guys will be there, do you know?" he asked.

"No idea."

"We'll assume they'll be there, then. You two and I will keep an eye on Ristagno. If his wife is there, we're watching her as well. I'll get the Martillos to be ready for the Candelas to start something." While not audible, Luck took regret in his words, not honestly wishing to attend the dance, or to bring his friends into it. The largest issue he had was the fact that I could not bring Alia to something so dangerous, and that he knew instead he would bring a strange woman in it for the sake of taking someone he was not attached to.

"What's goin' on in your head?"

"Alia. She'll be unhappy about me being out late that day."

"Just don't tell her 'til it's too late for her to stop you."


	89. Doors Both Slammed and Broken

"Are you keeping something?"

"Are you always going to be so paranoid about it? I'm fine, you can stop asking."

"No. You are lying. I know you are," accused Alia, insisting on keeping the most space she could from him. Each time he tried to comfort her with a hug or a stroke of her hair, she would move away to an entirely different room, the only one out of her way thus far being the kitchen. She had locked the bathroom between their rooms, as well as the door to her room, refusing to allow him in. "Tell me what you are hiding."

"I'm not hiding anything from you. You've admitted to being bad at picking up on behaviors; you're only misinterpreting. Besides, in what dimension do you prefer being alone to being with me?"

"The dimension in which you are a liar!"

"I'm not lying," he groaned. "I don't have time for this. I need to get some amount of sleep before work."

"Then go to sleep. I am staying here."

"Come on, Alia. Just because I let down my smile doesn't mean I'm unhappy," insisted Luck. With no reply, he left the door, coming back with a pin and jamming it into the lock.

"What are you doing?" she practically shrieked out as she rushed to the door to keep him from opening the barrier between them- futilely. As an alternative, she ran into the bathroom and locked that door, then moved to his room and locked that door as well. The circle continued until she ran down the stairs. "Stop it!" A slam of the front door created an official argument, though he had been sure they were finished with quarrels and events in which she left the house. He followed hastily, keeping her from walking down the street and toward the denser city where she could catch a cab. "I am not so terrible at reading people that I cannot see you are falsely dismissing my concerns. You owe me explanation."

It seemed hours that the argument went on. Many a groan and sigh and gradual shift of position brought them back to the door, by his intention without her seeming to notice. They were not so loud as to create a disturbance in the neighborhood, but the constant talking and complaint seemed amplified to his ears and raised a headache that pounded at his skull.

"Stay away from me if you refuse to tell me what disturbs you!" she said as she slipped into the house and shut it in his face.

"Honestly? Shut out of the house signed under my name? That's great," he said. "Let me back in." She refused to reply, making him wonder if she was out of earshot, or if she was being stubborn. His voice was audible, indeed, but her lack of reply was not made by a headstrong clench of the jaw. It was the product of patience— 'patience,' she had been told, came from an older word that meant to endure in suffering. Alia was patient, waiting for Luck's actions on the other side of the door.

"This is ridiculous," he muttered to himself, placing a foot on the door and pressing until he found the balance he would need. With a final sigh, he prepared himself, then kicked the door until the wood broke away from the metal locks. "We need a new door, now. Are you happy?" He turned and caught her by the arm, turning her to face him.

As she shook her head back and forth in a negative gesture, he took her firmly by the shoulders.

"I wanted one place I wouldn't have to talk about it. Why couldn't that have been here? The Ristagnos and Candelas are in a war, and I can't avoid it any longer. It's like I'm about to be forced to throw babies into a fight between pit bulls."

"I am sorry," she whimpered, staring into his eyes with what he couldn't distinguish. It could have been fear but it could have been sympathy, neither of which he wanted from her. With the release of her arms, he plopped onto the couch.

"Just don't talk to me about it, now that you know."

"I will refrain.."


	90. An Appointment to Make Spectacular Ideas

His scent was like that of mulled red wine made with cardamom. The aroma would fill her lungs, and she always refrained from breathing it out until it was gone and she felt the need for more of his smell. Hers, on the other hand, was one he had needed to acquire a love for. It was everything sweet in the world, like she had somehow managed to turn the water in their baths to brown sugar, syrup, molasses, honey, and vanilla ice cream.

"I'm home," he announced, taking off his hat and suit jacket as he loosened his tie in preparation to wallow in the cooler indoor airs. She came down the stairs to greet him with a toss of her arms around his neck and a bright smile, but seemed to keep her hands from touching him. His nose shriveled up at an unexpected scent. "Pineapple? Is it your hands that smell that way?" Her smile grew in amusement as he took her hands and brought them to his face. "Why do you have pineapple juice on your hands?" Without answering, she laughed and pranced to the phone, dialing a number whose movements he recognized as those to contact Sudko.

"Hello?"

"I wish not to speak with you. Give me Sudko."

"Yeah, I sort of hate you too," Clay said, leaving the phone to be picked up by Sudko.

"What did he say?

"'Pineapple? Is it your hands that smell that way? Why do you have pineapple juice on your hands?'" Alia mocked a deep voice for Luck, even though her voice was already at a rich, full alto pitch as it was, and laughed. "People."

"They're odd ones, you know."

"Are we doing the pineapple juice thing tomorrow, too?"

"Yes! We're doing this every day until nothing happens," Sudko said. "We should start an actual living out of it."

"It would be pretty amazing. I wonder what that would taste like if it was all pineapple juice we used."

"We could use other juices. Like raspberry juice or something like that."

"Our hands would stain."

"Exactly. Do you know what a spectacular name we could find for ourselves with stained hands?" Sudko asked, calling for a pause to think of names.

"I have no idea.. We could think of something very spectacular though.. We should try it tomorrow. I will buy the raspberries."

"Bring some extra so that we can actually eat some of them."

"I will," she nodded. "See you tomorrow." With goodbyes said, she hung up and turned to a perplexed Luck. "We have a tradition. I will wash my hands now. The stickiness was bothering me anyhow."


	91. The Red Handed Beekeepers

**A/N: **So I wasn't home for the weekend and I probably could've posted in that whole time but instead I swam in a heated saltwater pool for thirteen and a half hours, a good portion of that time nude. People called me jailbait. Bitches.

* * *

"I have an itch behind my ear," Sudko complained in a hushed voice, looking down at his hands, which had attracted a few bees as they sat out on the steps with raspberry juice on their hands. "You're lucky you don't get itches."

"I suppose I am. I miss out on being tickled though. Luck tried to tickle me last week and nothing happened, so he said I was dead inside," she replied, trying to think of ways to scratch his itch, and conjuring none. "The red-handed beekeepers."

"Oh, hey." There was their idea for what to call themselves.

"People would be confused."

"The police would start an investigation to find out what we were guilty of," he joked.

"That would be a bad time.." she said, allowing herself to look into space.

"Don't overthink it. They couldn't imprison us for anything."

"I was thinking about if they investigated Luck, as well. He is currently throwing babies into pit bull fights, according to his analogy." A less than amused stare met his snicker. "Candela and Ristagno are fighting and he is being pulled into it."

"Candela? Hell, he's always in fights with someone."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah; I worked for him once. He tried to kill me when he found out that I'm a homosexual, but then he just let me go."

"Hm.."

"He's dreadfully allergic."

"To what?"

"To bees."


	92. Adult Features in a Boy's Face

"Hey, Firo!" Luck called toward his friend, noting a nervous yet enthusiastic vigor to his step. A surprised look met him as Firo stopped and waited for Luck to catch up to him from down the adjacent street. Making his way across, he began to walk along the same path that was being taken by the shorter man. "How's it going?"

"Going alright," Firo answered with a gulp. "Just going to the doctor's office. I'm meeting Ennis there."

"Something wrong?"

"We're, uh.. Seeing if she's expecting." Luck swore he hit a high C somewhere in there.

"Wow. You're taking quite a big step there."

"We're not going to tell anyone until this whole fight is over. We don't want people freaking out," explained Firo before hesitating. "If she's pregnant, that is, and if she is, I can't take her to that little dance. It'll feel weird." The image of this person, perpetually caught up in the body of a boy just outside legal childhood but not quite out of puberty, was becoming that of a grown man nonetheless. Luck couldn't seem to find any words for the man who was, and had always been, his best friend. "So.. don't spread the word."

"Of course," said Luck, ceasing to walk and allowing himself to fall behind. "I'll see you later. Better give me the news when you find out though. I can't be left curious."

"Sure thing." Firo continued to walk and Luck went his own way to work.


	93. Unannounced Engagement

He closed the door and did not announce his presence, ascending the stairs with careful silence and entering the room to find her lying there asleep on the bed. It was seven in the afternoon, and whether to wake her from her nap, he debated within himself, deciding it would be better for them both if he dressed for the dance and left without her knowledge.

She woke by the feeling of him in the room, anyhow, and with the collection of a few cards he had never seen before, overturned photographs, they seemed, put away in the small drawer of her music box and locked in with the same key as used to turn the gears inside and play the music, she greeted him silently. "Welcome home," she mumbled happily, but by the guilty look on his face that he could not hide, she furrowed a brow. "Are you leaving?"

"Don't worry about it."

"Where are you going?" Her eyes followed him as he made haste in undressing and finding new attire, which was of much greater quality than the clothes he had previously been wearing. "Somewhere important. I want you to tell me."

"You always want me to tell you, because you're so keen on argument."

"I may have nothing to prove against that accusation. In a debate during which I use an adamantine blade against your analogous armor, though, who is it you think will prevail? There is this feeling I am drawing no conclusions during this one."

"You're not."

"Who will you be with?" she asked, ignoring the previous battle and starting one that could be won.

"Are you really asking me that?" In his façade he made as though to be taken aback. "I'm not promiscuous. You know that I'm devoted to you."

"So who will you be with?" Her voice stayed at a level pitch and volume, to his shock, and her eyes bore steadily into him without any intention to injure. Perhaps she was simply too sleepy to create a full argument.

"There's a dance and I'm taking another woman there."

"Take me instead."

"I'm not going to put you in that sort of danger. People are inevitably going to die, and I'm not having it be anyone I care about."

"If you care about me, you will stay with me tonight. You can abandon me any night but this one. Be here, or take me with you," she ordered with confidence, denied with a shake of the head.

"I can't do either of those. Just stay here. I'll be home tomorrow." At last, her face broke into a sorry disappointment that finally got into his conscience. "I'll make it up to you." Slightly calmed, she stood and approached him, adjusting his bow tie to sit correctly and laying a brief kiss onto his lips.

"You better damn well make it up to me."


	94. Even More a Stranger

The sun only just peeked over the blankets of the earth's crust, Mercury bright above it in the sky, as Luck returned from his dance. Five, said the clock. His clothes were new, suggesting he had stopped by his own hideout to change—no, he had borrowed them from someone bigger than himself. If she recalled correctly, Berga's home was but a few blocks out of the way to stop by, supposing the dance had been west of them. He could likely have been lent clothes by him. Behind the clothes which made him appear to be thin and malnourished, he looked even more like a stranger, worn down and tired. Alia was unable to see whether this was sorrow or an effect of sleeplessness.

"What is wrong with you?" she asked, concerned, opening her arms to his fall as he kissed her roughly. His teeth nearly dug into the flesh of her lips, though she kept from flinching. The more his hand ran over her and the more he kept his mouth occupied with cataglottism rather than replying to her question, the more she worried for him. "Come now. Fess up."

"No. I'm always fessing up."

"Why are you in new clothes, then?"

"I don't want to talk about it," he growled and continued in osculation as his knees rested on either side of her lying figure. His back was hunched over and she placed her fingers on those two protruding vertebrae where his neck connected to his back that often made her giggle. She winced slightly as he destroyed this affection and pinned the hand above her head.

"Stop it," asserted Alia after pushing his head away from hers. "I will not make love to you if you are going to be like that."

"What? So you lock me out when I don't tell you things?"

"No. You are rejecting my affections. We will not be making love if you only wish for pleasure."

"Well doesn't this all sound familiar?"

"I did not wish for pleasure as we were about to partake in intimacy last June. I wished to see you satisfied, but as you asked whether I was sure of our actions, it was brought to my attention that giving myself physically and not mentally would not satisfy you in the least, and as you indulge in me physically yet deny my every attempt to truly comfort you, I see that you will not feel any better than you did walking through that door." She pointed. As she spoke, her eyes focused on his, but his refused to look at anything but the empty space outside her irises.

"Why can't you just do what I want for once?" With a sigh, she escaped from under him and turned him onto his back, taking the dominant position over him.

"I will, and we will see if you are happy afterwards."


	95. The Same Sort of Selfish

a level pitch and volume, to his shock, nd starting one that could be , though, whocway in the small drawer of her mus"Are you better?" He gestured negatively, resting his head on her bosom and allowing her to caress him.

"My date died. She was the first baby I threw into the pit bull fight. I changed my clothes because her blood got all over them, and I feel selfish because I'm glad it wasn't you." A lot of Ristagno's men had died as well, but not Ristagno himself.

"I am glad it was not you. Am I selfish?"

"No, but it's not the s-"

"It is precisely the same, and you cannot deny that. You did not cause the fight," she assured him, sliding his fingers through his light brown hair.

"No, it isn't the same. I could have stayed home, and Ristagno would still have lived through Candela's attack. That girl wouldn't have died. We could have spent the night together, too."

"Well, I do not blame you. You can make up for the night we did not spend with each other, and as for the girl.." consideration called her to pause. "If you blame every death you encounter on yourself, you will become a sad thing like I am, and I refuse to watch someone I love devolve into such a thing." No reply met him; he could only sit up and look at her in wait for her to second guess her wording or spout denials. She did neither of these, looking back and letting her previous statement settle.

"You know, I have something to make the night up to you," he said as he reached into the drawer of his nightstand and produced a polished silver watch. "I found it when I was younger in Tick's father's shop, before this whole debt thing went down that I won't bore you with. For a while, I've been meaning to give it to you for your birthday, but I guess giving it to you now will work."

"Yesterday was.. my birthday. Or at least, the anniversary of my awakening."

"I really shouldn't have gone to that dance then..."

"No, you were doing your job. At any rate, this is a nice birthday present for becoming nineteen, and it has completely made up for your absence." She smiled as she held the watch in her hand, letting it cover her palm. With the press of a button, it opened and revealed a pretty face with its roman numerals neatly painted on by hand. Luck's larger hands took hers and guided them to the button to set the time. "But it is at the right time," the girl protested until he let go of the button and a small melodic noise came out of the pocket watch. In utter awe, she pressed her ear to it and grinned from ear to ear. The tune was cheerful and light, set at an uplifting allegro tempo she admired.

"Nineteen, huh?"

"Yes. When will your birthday be?"

"September eighteenth.. I'll be twenty-one." Twenty-one should have been believable enough, and she did believe it, setting the date away in her mind as he searched for some way to get the subject out of his. "We should probably shower."


	96. Smart As He Was

"Luck! Did you hear?" Firo burst into the room. "Candela's dead and the gang disbanded. At least, people are saying they disbanded."

"Why would they do that?" asked Luck, looking up from the diaries of an anonymous homunculus that he had been for the most part neglecting during the past stressful while.

"They hated him. It's not like they could point a finger at anyone anyhow. It was bees."

"Bees?"

"He was allergic. They were in his wall, and he heard them buzzing. Smart as he was, he thought it'd be a good idea to smash the wall. That's what I heard. Apparently someone tried to blame the Martillos at first, but we got out of that one."

"And the gang just gave up?" he asked.

"Hell, they probably weren't even sure why the guy started the fight in the first place. Doesn't matter too much though; at least our worries are gone." Luck nodded, looking down at his book and preparing to read again, before remembering something.

"Oh, are you going to tell people about Ennis, then? I noticed she wasn't at the dance," he remarked, smiling at the nervous look on Firo's face.

"I guess I sort of should, shouldn't I?"

"When you feel like it. She shouldn't be getting big for a while. At least drink with me to celebrate the end of death and the beginning of life." With the pouring of two drinks, they made a toast, discussing Ennis' pregnancy further and letting the conversation fade into nothing, until they were silently in each other's company in their own occupations.


	97. Jars

"February the Twenty-Fifth, 1759:

I have finished ridding her entire physicality of tactual perception of pain, and have converted her into the traditions of Anglican faith. Perhaps now I might impregnate her—be it with a child or with some notion. A notion of tameness may be suitable. At the moment she is sour. She is stinging less like a bee but like a wasp. I doubt not she could sting me a million times, but no wasp can sting its way through a jar.

The next thing must be, then, to jar her. Surely, that could train her soul to be fit to a human lady. She does wish to be human after all; I can see it. I believe I shall do so using the cupboard. It has a lock. It will be much easier to look after her and still live in my larger house at once. Finley can stay with her, seeing as she has taken a liking to my wife ever since finding us. I will come back in a week to see the results of her confinement."

Luck read these words with a clear depression on his forehead until Berga walked in. At that moment he pasted on his small, level smile.

"Something happening?"

"Alia's here and won't leave," said Berga. "She that stubborn at home?"

"She's been stubborn since I met her," Luck confirmed, standing and following his brother down the narrow hallway to find Alia where she usually stayed in wait for him to protest, the poker table. With a harsh jerk of her arm, he pulled her from her seat and to another room. "How many times are we doing this?"

"About as many times as I ask you what is the matter and you tell me it is nothing," she joked. "Which I must ask, will be how many times?"

"I don't want to talk about it," he played along with his smile. "Honestly though, you know I hate you being here."

"I do know, but I have no other place to be. Sudko is having a tantrum, due to the unhappiness my presence can bring, so I left."

"Was he violent?"

"No."

"I can tell when you lie. It's good to know you don't do it often—mostly you like to twist words and leave things out," he chuckled at the nervous look on her face. "Yeah, I know you, Alia. So what did he do?"

"He did not hurt me."

"At least that one is semi-true."

"Are you thinking badly of him?"

"No, I'm not," Luck assured her, though it was only half of an honest statement. "I'm worried for you."

"I am more worried for him. He has a tendency to feel disgusting, and I find that it is bad for his health. You might understand this feeling, judging by your behavior after that dance," she said with a smile. "I know you too.. And I know that you are likely considering telling me not to see him."

"Shouldn't I consider your safety? That's what people do for those they love, isn't it?"

"I wish I had always been one to consider that, but I can tell you one thing I would never consider, no matter the circumstance, and it is leaving someone I love. Sudko has been, since my separation from my husband, my brother when I needed a sibling, my father when I needed direction, my friend when I needed support. That you could consider telling me not to see him is foolish, because I would not consider following that order."

"Consider me this, then," he played the word on his tongue as it was becoming one of theirs. "Leave this hideout and get yourself a cup of coffee in a nice, public place where you don't feel God will gobble you up—and I'll see you at home."

"When?"

"Earlier than usual. I'll try seven."

"And all I must do is leave here?"

"That's all," the smirk on his face pushed his assurance ahead on the chess board as she slowly took it and ran, her goodbye being a kiss on the cheek. As he followed out steadily behind, he caught the door to the world of alleys and cars closing and smiled, but found his lips tightening while hoping she took a cab rather than walk the shady roads. Surely, people considered the safety of those they loved, to the point of obsession.


	98. I Did Not Die

"I got here first," he claimed. "That means you read."

"But you chose English. You know how slow it is. Do you enjoy listening to me sound like a five-year-old?"

"Maybe. I think it's cute."

"I think you are cruel. You should go back to work," she said, pushing the book to his chest and pushing him as far from her on the bed as she could. Despite her indignant speech, she wore a grin, pulling the book back to her and opening to a random page where was printed a poem. "What is this I read?"

"It's Poe."

"The depressive one?"

"Yeah."

"Bah!" she eyed the lines and stanzas with confusion. The letters were known to her, but their strange groups always challenged her. Flipping through the heavy book, she found something she might more easily read. "I will attempt it, but it shall not sound at all poetic. 'Sometimes I—' What is this bullshit?"

"What?"

"This." He peered over the top of the book and looked for where she was.

"Cheater. You just chose a quote. That's an apostrophe."

"I know what it is. What is it doing there?"

"It connects 'I' to 'am' but leaves out the 'a' to make 'I'm.' You honestly don't notice that in speech?"

"You Americans are lazy.. 'Sometimes I am—'"

"I'm."

"'-_I'm _t-terr-r-rified of my h—' What is this!"

"'—heart; of its constant hunger for whatever it is it wants. The way it stops and starts.'"

"If you knew it by memory, why was I about to read it?"

"Because I'm evil that way," he joked. "Why don't you try another? Here's another book." Reluctantly, she opened the second book and peered down and the new strange writing.

"There really is no sense to the spelling of English words. Alright. Here we go again," she said. "'Do not stand over my grave and weep; I am not there. I do not sleep.'"

"See, this one's not too bad."

"'I am a thousand winds that blow. I am the di-diamond glints on snow.'" She felt her heart beat rise by the frustration of her mistake. "'I am the sunli—' why are the letters like this? What does it say?"

"Sunlight."

"'I am the sunlight on ripened grain. I am the gentle.. autumn.. rain. When you awaken in the morning's hush, I am the swift uplifting rush of quiet birds in circled flight.' Why do those 'i's make that sound?"

"Because they do."

"That is stupid. 'I am the soft stars that shine at night. Do not stand at my grave and cry; I am not there. I did not die.' That was frustrating."

"Why? It's a nice poem."

"Not the poem—the words. Who is it by?"

"Mary Elizabeth Frye."

"Do you know all these poems?" she asked.

"Segments of most of them. I've only read these so many times."

"It is apparent. I am finished reading."

"What? You hardly read a thing."

"I read a lot for me."


	99. Antigone

"Put the cover down on the toilet when you shower," she said, climbing into the bed beside him with a yawn. "You get water on the seat."

"Better than piss. Ma never managed to train pissing on the toilet seat out of Berga, and it's taken awhile for Kalia to manage it, even though she's a lot stricter as a wife than Ma was as a mother."

"Kalia.. I remember her from Hanukkah. We joked about our names."

"I never noticed that," Luck mused. "Now she'll never let me marry you if the urge hits me." Alia stifled laughter, embarrassing him for a moment until she continued the conversation.

"We shall have to elope if we ever wish to be wed. Oh the scandal. From stranger mafioso and murder witness to landlord and tenant to lovers then spouses. We would need to take on a private country life to free ourselves from the world's hatred," said Alia, her smile peaceful and imagining as she rested her head on his chest and readied herself to fall asleep. Of course, this meant she was ready for him to fall asleep—for his breathing to slow and his heart beat to steady, so she could listen to her music box.

"Could I listen with you tonight?"

"I.. I usually do not like when.."

"Yeah, I know, but I'm not judging you or anything. I just want to fall asleep with you." A slow sigh exited her throat before she got out the box and pulled her knees close to her to use as a table for it. With a few turns of the key, she began listening.

He saw her face twist into someone else', solemn and lifeless.

"I suppose I owe you the month's explanation. This box was for a woman for whom I had a familial love. She was so dear to me.. He stabbed her, and killed her. That is why I separated from him, with my friend's help. I was in terrible condition after that, and I still cannot forgive."

"What was her name?" he asked.

"Antigone."

"You still think about it a lot, apparently."

"It rules over me in many aspects, but I do not think directly of it so horribly often anymore. Mostly I think about it while I listen."

"You've gotten older," observed Luck.

"Even so, I am still a very foolish woman."


	100. Positive Progression

**A/N: **I'm pretty excited about this being the hundredth chapter. It was a little more exciting when I actually wrote it and stuff but guys whatever this is the first time I've written a story through and through and a hundred is where I was like "yeah, there's really no way not to finish this." Anyway, enjoy this (admittedly odd) chapter.

* * *

"There are a lot more bees today."

"They're hurrying before it's wintertime," Sudko said, gently shunning the bees from his hands, then hers, and moving inside. "Back to the queen, dears. I'm starving, how about you?"

"I could survive to have a bite to eat," she said, nodding. "What do you say we wash up and we can walk to the café?"

"Yeah." They walked to the kitchen sink together and washed up. "Hey. You and Luck make love?"

"Frequently enough," her answer was served with a slight smile, which he caught with a returned grin.

"You feel it these days, don't you?"

"No." The smiled died as the pineapple juice let up and she withdrew her hands to dry, avoiding his look. "He uh.. Notices.. I think. I still like it though. It is gratifying in other ways than physical.. um.. well.."

"Orgasm." A vulgar smirk overtook Sudko as he joined her in drying his hands on the towel hanging from the refrigerator handle. "I get it. Sorry if that's invasive. I get curious about your positive progression though.." She made an obvious point of putting distance between them, a proximity which he respected and even supported by leaning passively on the counter, to her relief.

"Well. Thank you. Even if it was an odd topic. Speaking of positive progression.."

"I don't want to talk about it," he blurted with his same expression.

"That was quick. Are you not doing well or are you too busy tampering with me?"

"Hey, I'm just trying to see that you live your life and recover your way, and Luck seems to be speeding that up."

"So you are busy with me?"

"I'm busy with you, and I'm doing badly, since I knew you'd make me tell you somehow. You should progress your way from the distrust that makes you do that." His tone was now joking and friendly, putting her less at ease in its own illogical way.

"You know you are a brother to me, Sudko. I love and trust you, and you are aware of this."

"Very. You are my sister, too."

"Please do not betray that. And try to refrain from asking about things like.." She shied away from the word.

"Orgasms. I can do that. Let's go get food in our bellies, then!" He pushed off of his support and began to walk, pulling her along by her arm linked in with his own.


	101. Signs of Life

Her eyes opened just enough to see, revealing tired blue lines of iris. One leg shifted toward the edge of the bed in preparation to labor herself up for the day, held back by one of Luck's legs as his arms tightened around her.

"You are not often so lazy in the morning."

"Shh," he hissed, burying his face in her shoulder. "I'm sleeping."

"When did you come home last night?"

"Mm.."

"Luck."

"Four."

"It is five now!"

"Shhh. Not so loud." His voice was a growl now, shutting her up as she pressed close to him in an offering for warmth. Luck took it, holding her even tighter and beginning to slip into sleep again. She found him fortunate to have the ability to fall asleep quickly, even if he had a habit of staying awake late and waking up early. Though she had little trouble falling asleep, it did take longer to become comfortable if she had been awake longer than usual.

His breath hit her back, making her resist squirming. All her attempts became futile after little more than what she would suppose was ten minutes. Luck awakened, vexed by her movement.

"Alia."

"It feels odd." He sighed, grunting with annoyance as she jerked.

"What does?"

"Your breath. It.. I am not sure."

"You've never minded it before. Just go back to sleep."

"It tickles," she said, wincing as he turned her onto her back and stood on his knees over her.

"You're keeping me awake, so you better not be playing around," the man grumbled, and she refrained from labeling him a hypocrite as he proceeded to try tickling her. Doing so was not terribly difficult as she found herself covering her mouth anyhow in order to suppress laughter. As she gave up and began to sound a nervous giggle, the irritated indent in his brow softened, and despite his weariness, he smiled. "I'm impressed. You actually have signs of life now. But really, you need to shut up now before I can't sleep anymore." She nodded as he laid back down, now on his back and holding her head to his chest. He had signs of life too, one of which was very healthy and steady in her ear.


	102. Not Only News

"Okay, look," Luck said, holding Alia's face.

"No. You are going to tell me bad news."

"Whether I get to tell you or not, it's going to happen, and I'd much prefer that I get to tell you."

"I hate bad news," she complained, but looked at him anyway, pouting at his inability to keep from chuckling at her face being squashed between his hands.

"I need to go to Wichita until the end of next month."

"What! Why!"

"There's a organization down there that covers a lot of land, some of that land being here. If I get on good terms with them, they'll be covering me and anyone near me. That includes you."

"Why isn't there anyone here that you can talk to?"

"The whole point of these people is to stay invisible, even to their allies. In any case, this'll benefit my guys too much for me to deny, but it isn't so easy to get these guys on anyone's side. There's a lot to be worked out just with middle men that'll take a while, and I need you to wait here patiently."

"How will I contact you?"

"I can't be in contact with people outside." He shook his head. "But you'll be on my mind every day."

"This is not only news, then. It is a month-long farewell."

"I'm sorry. I've told the boys to take care of you, and Don Martillo said he'd look after you too. There's also—that's the cab. I have to go by the hideout to get my things," he said, pecking her on the lips and walking out the door, she followed, slowing him down as much as she could.

"There is also who?"

"Everyone thought the Candelas separated, but Sudko gathered them back up. He's their leader now. They'll help you out if you're ever in trouble. I love you, Al." With another kiss, he got into the cab and left, as she stayed on the curb. Contemplating a month of life without access to Luck put her in a worse and worse mood as the time went on. How he could call her impulsive while doing things like going to dances and other states without telling her until the last minute? Was he not aware of the hypocrisy? Knowing him, he must have been conscious of it, but knowing him still, he just ignored it.

She must not have known him as well as she thought, for as it turned out, he was not ignoring it. On his journey over a thousand miles long, he was guilty of it, and dreading just as much a month without her. But this guy was also immortal, and someone else was rumored to have knowledge of the formula for the elixir. A month without her could mean a million months with her in his return if he so pleased, and all he had to do was get his hands on that powerful liquid.


	103. Dishonestly Telling the Truth

"What are you doing?" asked Czeslaw, with whom she had been living, along with Firo and Ennis.

"Practicing the movements of major scales," she said, moving her left and right hand simultaneously. "I always get messed up on the fourth and seventh degrees. Minor is so much easier to me because I know how to play a minor piece, so it has become a little more natural."

"Your right hand is the one that gets messed up. You must be left-handed."

"Hm? I never noticed."

"That's a lie."

"I knew you were another one of the perceptive ones. I will refrain from telling lies before you."

"You're terrible," he said, earning a slight scolding from Firo. "She is though. Who tests people just to see if they can get away with lying in that person's company?"

"People who have a habit of not telling the truth."

"You mean liars."

"No. I am not a liar," she denied truthfully, giving up her scale practice in the air to focus on the conversation. "I simply do not enjoy telling certain truths."

"That's lying."

"No it is not. It is deciding whether I will twist the words I use so that I am still telling the truth but also shying away from the subject I wish to hide, or leave things out that people would not notice. That is not a lie," explained Alia. "Seeing as most people can tell when I lie, meaning I must be a very rotten liar, I tend to do quite a bit of that, especially with men." Firo chuckled.

"What Luck told me about ya was true then. You've got a lot to explain to him." She flinched at the mention of her absent lover.

"As I have been. I am not sure how I am to explain this month's subject.. That means I will have to tell him two things next month.. Not enjoyable," she said.

"What do you two mean?"

"She dishonestly told the truth to her boyfriend so much that he stopped being able to stand it. How much do you owe him now?"

"I must tell him why I broke up with my past lover, why I despise kitchens, and something else I do not remember."

"I think he said something about you always checking the—there you go, checking the time." Alia pouted indignantly in defense of the habit.

"That too.. Hm.."


	104. Someone Must Question

"Ughh.. I hate getting these damn itches and tickles. I constantly feel that insects crawl all over me and I… I do not know…"

"Someone has some sexual frustration."

"We are not talking about this again," said Alia angrily.

"You just don't want to admit it," Clay sang, passing through the living room on the way to the washroom.

"Yeah, I hate you too, Clay," she called after him, lying on the floor and trying to bring a topic back into her mind that she had forgotten. "Oh, Sudko. I would like you to teach me to read and write English, if you would, please."

"I can do that for you. You trying to give Luck a surprise for when he comes back?" She nodded. "Then I'd suggest lingerie."

"Sudko."

"No need to be that way," he chuckled. "I can tell you don't trust him not to fool around with other women while he's gone. That's the only reason I'm poking. You shouldn't worry though. He talked to everyone about taking care of you while he was gone, and he was honest about his business. I could tell."

"You can tell everything these days, it looks like."

"That's one of the perks to this ordeal I'm in. I know you a lot more, people moderately better, and myself a whole lot worse, which really only means I have things to learn and temperaments to get a handle of. I shouldn't ramble though."

"I was fine with listening."

"I know.. So.. You really love him, don't you?"

"Yes, I think," she said.

"And how?"

"Like a lover."

"How do you know that?" prodded Sudko, with visible intention. "With that man, you did not know any sort of love, and over Evio, you took on that sick sense, despite how old he is."

"Are you insulting me?"

"Someone has to question you to make sure what you're feeling is real. I am caring for you."

"You are playing with me."

"You're being defensive," he said. "That doesn't look good." The flush of the toilet broke the stress forming between them before Clay exited the washroom and tussled the hair on both their heads with freshly washed and dried hands.

"Calm down, little ones. Sudko, try not to sound so doubtful, and Alia, try not to be a stupid bitch." She glared at him on his way to retire to his small study, as he usually did during her visits in order to avoid her.

"I just don't want more cases like Evio. Are you absolutely certain of your love for Luck?"

"As certain as I can be. After these ten months of knowing him, I might not completely trust him with that love, and that scares me, but I cannot manage to deny it. I will love him until he dies, whether that should be by his business, by sickness, or by age." Sudko smiled.

"Then he is my brother and by that respect I also love him," he said. "And by the way, he loves you too. That's a true fact."

"Thank you," Alia took a sigh of relief, allowing her brows to relax and her clavicles to drop. "So, about this learning English. Think we could start?"


	105. His Compassion

"What are you reading there?" Luck had brought the books from Sudko with him, and was reading them in his spare time, since little else was permitted.

"It's a man's record of physical and psychological experiments he put his immortal wife through. He's been locking her in a cupboard, the most recently I've read. The duration that she spends there increases each time he repeats the cycle. At some point he found out that she was eating the food in the cupboard to keep herself alive in there for longer, so he replaced all of the food with arsenic and put her back in. Her reaction to being let out changed considerably afterwards. She behaved furiously before, but now she considers him a valid threat even in his absence, and is being more civil. Slightly.. She still spits, and doesn't bite her tongue when the opportunity arises to retort, given her mental state will allow it," Luck explained, looking up at the astonished man with whom he would be spending the length of the month. "Sorry, I got carried away there."

"No, it's interesting," the man said. "Even if morbid. You seem connected to the case. Who do you side with?"

"It's not necessarily a matter of sides. I find the study, even as cruel as it is, entertaining. Only for the fact that it expands my knowledge, and this man has a way of writing.. But in the end my compassion is for the wife. I guess I have a tendency of growing attached to people in books."

"That's just a sign of a well-written book. So, do you believe in this whole immortality thing?"

"In a way, I suppose I do," Luck tried to avoid the question, not knowing precisely what the man would think of his own immortality.

"It's okay. I know you're immortal."

"Alright," he said casually, glad to have that out of the way, even if the man had played with him for it.

"So do you know this immortal woman?"

"No. It feels like it though, somehow. It's odd having to know her through his mind, but I can try imagining what goes through hers and that gives me a bit more perspective. I'm finished with the first two books, actually. I brought them here so my roommate- wouldn't find them. If you want to, you can read them, though I'll warn you, getting into the exact details of the human anatomy is not precisely much fun unless you're a surgeon."

"I'm sure I can handle it," the man chuckled, allowing Luck to dig through his luggage. "So what's the deal with this roommate? You messed up talking about him."

"Her. And she's my lover. A slip of the tongue by habit."

"Shame on you," the man spoke, receiving the books. Something about the man was off-putting. He was friendly, but did not seem genuine at times. It might have been his eyes. They were constantly pulled up at the outer corners in a faux-gleeful smile, until Luck found that they were scars, likely from before he became immortal somehow. In his experience, immortality could be accidental or bargained for, but from the man's personality itself, he had a hard time telling whether he was more likely to stumble upon the panacea by mistake or by request. "You're noticing that."

"My apologies."

"It's fine. I'm interested in these books, because, well, I have gone through a level of abuse myself. The reason I became an immortal was to prevent more scarring. Of course, no death means more violent freedom. I'm sure you've learned that one. It's nothing for you to apologize over, though," said the man. "You know, in a way, I'm suspicious that the man who wrote these books is my old boss."

"Wouldn't that be something? You'll have to get to me on it."


	106. Gossip

"This writer is British."

"I remember."

"Yeah. My boss was a Briton too."

"Looks bad," said Luck, studying the man's face.

"It does look bad. Oh well. At least I can actually feel. I rather like having fully functional nerves, pain reception included," he said. When it came to it, Luck was not truly aware of who 'he' was. He was man without a real name for the sake of keeping his organization safe. Any names earned at birth were avoided even by the exterior to assure that the interior was just as mysterious. The only name he was given was Placide, which made sense for a down-low organization.

"I've thought of going through that conditioning just so I didn't have to deal with pain, but I thought it would be too troublesome, especially seeing as the human body and homunculus body might not match up that way, plus I actually do take an amount of enjoyment in intercourse." They shared a considerable laugh. "So, are you really stuck here in Ass Fuck Egypt, underground, or do you get to go up at any time?"

"Ask my sheet-white skin," was the answer. "I get to deal with outside people, though, so in a way I get to live vicariously outside through you guys, but I kissed any real social life I might have had goodbye."

"I can't imagine it. I mean, I've been around larger families, but none so secure. You know Ristagno?"

"Oh, hell yeah. I've heard of him."

"I dated his daughter. The man that killed her was Candela, did you hear that one?"

"Of course."

"The woman I'm with currently has a friend who used to work for him. He got thrown out. I guess he's the one who killed Candela, and now it looks like he did so in an act of overthrowing the guy."

"Sudko Dods. You're telling me that you know Sudko Dods?"

"Yeah. He and my girlfriend have been close even through every violent tantrum, from what she says."

"I hear he's tiny."

"He's not that much taller than five-foot, and he's slender, so yeah."

"I gotta say, I envy you. How'd you get involved with the best friend of the man who overthrew one of the top crime bosses of your area?"

"What I'd like to know is how she met him, but I'm well aware that I only know her because he's in this business, and had her circulated around the gangs for a home."

"I'm guessing that ended up with her in your home."

"Yeah. We weren't really.. Like that at first. I mean, we slept in the same bed, and even for a while before we started our official dating, we took baths together, but, I don't know. She was weird. She still is, but, you know."

"You want the Panacea for her, don't you?"

"It's not a decision I'd make on impulse, but after consideration done by myself and by others with more authority on the making of new immortals, if I could get in my head the image of spending my life with her, and I can't say absolutely that'll ever happen, since we've only actually been together for three months, it's just something I would want on hand."

"I get it. I can't give it to you, but I get it, and I don't think that you'll have a problem getting it from this organization given time. They like crime, but they hate the attitude of the gangsters. Seeing as you don't have that supercilious way of being, they'll probably like you. If they thought you were actually cut out for crime, they'd actually be likely to make you join them." Luck chuckled.

"I think I like outside a little bit too much for that. I like having a fully encompassing life, fuck-up risks included." They laughed together again.

"I guess that's something crime just takes away from you, or at least secure crime. There's no room for you to not be careful. Hey, do you think you could get me an autograph from that Dods somehow? Hell, anyone who can kill a man without anyone even finding out until he tells them needs a fan or two."

"I think there's a note in the cover of that first book there. 'Keep these away from Zabbo,' it should say. He signed it."


	107. Little Addictions

"Your penmanship is improving, but your posture is suffering," said Sudko as he loomed over Alia, who was writing letters metaphorically addressed to Luck. "He won't be happy with that at all."

"My back has been aching."

"Well, you should straighten out."

"I think a stronger corset should do me well."

"Just like art supplies and pianos and furniture do you well."

"I like art," Alia defended. "And pianism, as well as furniture. Are you meaning to point out a shopping addiction?"

"Perhaps. You have money. You don't have enough money for constant spending."

"All it can do is to begin circulating through the economy. Spending is good for those who can afford it, and I am not overreaching my budget. A corset is needed to improve my posture, not only for my appearance, but for my health."

"Whatever, Zabbo. You are addicted to buying things."

"There are far worse things to be addicted. I will spend as I wish, but I need a hobby, something I never have had before. It is natural I might wish to try out different things. Dance was enjoyable, and the physical exertion was invigorating, but I also found it ill-suited to me. So I am trying piano, and have been enjoying that, as well as visual arts," she said, signing the paper and examining the signature. "Unfortunately, I am not good at anything. Not especially—I have only average skills in anything I choose to do, and only average interest. It is troublesome. Look at that signature." It was surprisingly smooth for her having only recently taken to frequent writing, with many bubbly loops that looked a little bit like the concept of her entire appearance, making him chuckle.

"I like it."

"I think I will practice it. Never have I really thought about it.." She looked up at him, finding no smile on his face. "Dodsy? What is that look?"

"Well you know how I'm in charge of the Candela's now.."

"Yeah."

"And you remember when you used to decode things for me—back when I was with the Martillos?"

"Yeah."

"Well, never mind. It's just a subject that might be brought up again." Neither could deny the distrustful eye she turned his way as she took another sip of the coffee she had been drinking as she wrote.

"I think I will go home now. Love you. Have a nice day."

"You too, Alia. Get that back of yours fixed."

"Yeah," she said, walking herself out with a slight stagger. The door shut clumsily behind her as Clay took his chance to come out of hiding.

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

"No, what was it?"

"It was nothing. Just mind your own affairs."


	108. Pollution

Several unfortunate people were now disgruntled, concerned, or frustrated by a bump to the shoulder, and in the troubles of the Depression, New York was no friendly place. It certainly was not forgiving toward obviously intoxicated people stumbling every which way.

As her knees weakened, she leaned up against as stranger who seemed a little amused by her. At least he seemed good natured, and if he was perverted, she was sure she could handle herself—perhaps more sure than she should have been. She pulled his collar down to her level so she could mumble in his ear.

"Hey there. I am so.. drowsy.. I might need a little help home."

"Well, I got a car only a block down, if you're willing to walk that far," said the man, tipping his hat. He was curious, that was for sure, even to her. A bandanna over his face seemed out of place, especially in such temperate weather. While it did not cross her mind in the usual form of full words, she could imagine that the pollution had a hand in it, which made it seem very hard to breathe once within her awareness. "How far's your house from here?"

"..I think it is a mile or two."

"I should be able to bring you there in time to get back to work," his kind voice said, with a thick accent buried in the bass notes. They made it to the care before she became very ill-feeling, for what was one of very few times in her life.

"Thank you for this.. Mister.."

"Where I'm from, we don't have names, miss." He checked his rearview mirror to see her unconscious in the back passenger seat. "Wow. This one didn't leave any mess," he muttered to himself.


	109. Europe

She woke to blackness, which she could not tell if was caused by night or by blindness. Even between the threads of the black cloth, there seemed to be no specks of silver. Under her, something was moving. The smell of leather told her it was a car. The wheels turning over every little bump made her more and more uncomfortable as she attempted to squirm out of the awkwardness of her lying position.

"Oh no, don't stir too much, little lady. You'll get sick."

"I feel sick," she mumbled, trying to contain the contents of her stomach. "Who are you?"

"I told you before you passed out, I don't have any real name," the man chuckled. "Not that you'd remember that. I'm not here to hurt you, though. In fact, your little friend Dods is aware of this, and I can just tell he'd never put a lady in harm's way." The more she urged her thoughts, the clearer his voice became in her memories, to some accomplished feeling in her.

"Where are we going?" Something told her she would not be told this either, but something about the man's tone was trustworthy—though she was still notably influenced by intoxication.

"Can't tell you exactly, but it'll be a while getting there; sorry doll."

"I wonder what Luck would call you. A sociopath, psychopath, or perhaps he would say you are psychotic. He is the mind one."

"I could be one of those, but I'm not a psychologist, so I couldn't know. Tell me, that accent. It is Sicilian and something else. What?"

"Well, we can trade answers. First, answer me this: where are we going?"

"Told you. I can't tell you."

"That drastically changes my answer."

"I see your game."

"Quite the easy one," she said, not wanting to nod her head for her current bout of motion sickness. "How long is a while, though?"

"If I answer this one, you're answering the accent question."

"Yeah, yeah."

"It'll be another fourteen hours yet. So, where?"

"Europe."

"Aw.." She chuckled, but found that the movement it created in her stomach provoked her to vomit. "Aww!"

"Sorry about that, dear." The putrid smell of her product filled the air as he opened the window nearest to him to let it go.

"Whatever," he grumbled. "You're cleaning it, though."

"Will do, oh mysterious kidnapper. Napper. That makes me want to nap."

"Not much else you can do. I'll take a pit stop somewhere along to adjust your arms, though."

"Thanks.."


	110. The Name of the Man Who Told Her

"Where are we?"

"I've told you at least five times now—"

"I at least gave you a general area as to where I acquired this accent."

"Then I can say we're in North America."

"Good," said Alia sarcastically. "I would hate to be in Brazil right now."

"It's safe to let your blindfold down, so stay still and I'll bring you to be searched," he said, sliding the blindfold over the bridge of her nose and leading her through many a dark hallway.

"Are we anywhere near Wichita?"

"No," the man said.

"I do not believe you. I think we are near Wichita, where Luck said he was going. Where is Luck?"

"You know Gandor?"

"Yes, and the fact that you also at least know of him in a strange underground place where I will suppose 'I cannot make contact with the outside,' tells me that we are somewhere near Wichita, or at least that Wichita is the nearest large city."

"I see your game."

"Quite the easy one," she played the joke again. "I would very much like to see my lover, though."

"He's living in an apartment here. After you go through the searches, I'll get you to him. Just cooperate."

"I am still just a little too dizzy not to do so," Alia said, picking up the pace as the man pushed on her back. The search, when she got to the room in which it seemed searches took place, were a little more than invasive, but the people, even as severe as they were, had a sort of casual politeness to them. It was far different from any organizations she had seen, especially the large ones. Either this place was small, or completely unlike other gangs. During the search, they even indulged her in conversation. "So, Luck Gandor is here, right?"

"How do you know that?"

"I live with him. He said he would be gone a month romancing diplomacy with an invisible gang, which means, what with me seeing you, that he and I are not actually seeing the gang. This is just a middle-place for outsiders, is it not?"

"Moderate perception. Did this Commie tell you he'd let you see Luck?" A glance went toward an indignant man, the same that had driven her there. She turned her head to look at the man, giving a polite, awkward smile before she found that the man was finished searching the luggage that someone else, god knew who, had packed for her. He then moved on to search her, requesting that she remove her clothes.

"I cannot tell you the name of the man who told me I would see the big, serious Mister Luck Gandor," she smiled as she began to take off her clothes. "Perhaps using names in the first place could fix that."

"Well, I guess it'll save space if you're in the same apartment as him, but it only has one bedroom. I don't think you want to share a bed with your boss."

"He is not my employer."

"Well then.. You can put your clothes back on and we'll get you to him."

"Thank you."


	111. Words in Her Mouth

"Alia, what are y—" He was cut off by her kiss and knocked back onto the couch, from which he had been attempting to stand. It had been so long since he'd had that kiss, one that was not so professional but had just the coyness he never did get from her words, no matter how eager she could get.

"I missed you."

"I missed you too. You taste like mint," he chuckled.

"Yeah, they let me brush my teeth," she said. "Were you also blindfolded along the way?"

"Not all the way. I got to Wichita and then they blindfolded me."

"So not fair. I was blindfolded the entire time."

"That sounds uncomfortable. So, small talk aside, what are you doing here?" asked Luck, a small trace of his smile staying.

"I have only a small idea, really. Sudko mentioned my past work as a decoder for him, back when he worked for the Martillos. He was working to become bigger, though, which is why he started using the codes to communicate with other gangs."

"You did gang work?"

"It is how Sudko and I met. He was looking in my area of slums for people who spoke both Sicilian and English, and I was the only one."

"I would think you would tell me that."

"You never asked about it, and I never thought about it. It was not a secret," was her attempt to assure him. "Please do not make it into a problem."

"No, Alia. Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to work in coding?"

"You are starting an argument. It was the past, and I never said I would go back to that."

"I know you enough to be very well aware of your lack of consideration towards many consequences," he said, pushing her off of him and standing. She curled her legs to her chest and prepared for his verbal attacks. "If they ask you about this, what will you say, huh?" No answer occurred to her immediately. Obviously, a 'no' would make him happy, but she was not so excited to say the word. Only a harsh stare met him, telling him to stand down and stop his offense. "So that's a yes."

"That was no answer! Who are you to put words in my mouth?"

"Someone who really doesn't want you getting hurt." His tone was softened as he attempted to stroke her hair, pushed away with a defiant glare. Standing, she made an attempt to leave, but her arm was jerked back by him, his voice taking severity to it. "Your safety is the only thing in my interest here, and if they do want your services in codes, then what? You're answering this time."

"Stop this, Luck. It is possible the frontal lobe of my brain is not fully developed, making my sense of consequence impaired next to that of an elder, but I know what I am doing. What seems to be evading you is a little fact—one that you are not my father. No one is, and no one ever will be. I do not want one. I will never want one. What I want is a lover. I want one of those so badly. So when will you stop thinking I need to be raised, and governed, and start simply loving me?"

"When you stop needing constant company, and when you stop wanting to burn down houses. When you're not afraid of me. I do love you, but not in any simple way. Now stop embarrassing me in this bugged room and let's act like normal people do after having been apart for nearly a month."


	112. Eager and Underwhelmed

After a few days, the two returned home, Alia having been made to give up her knowledge on Sudko's five-step system of coding in which only the two sides of the message could know the raw message, with all steps in between doing only their assembly-line task without ever seeing the product. It was a relief to be where the walls were not filled with audio surveillance equipment, and where the bed was theirs and the food was made by him, even if bland.

"Hey, Luck! Stay here," she said, leaving him to set down their bags and take off his shoes as she hustled up the stairs. Once finished settling back into at least the foyer, he advanced up the stairs, only to find himself locked out of the bedroom.

"What are you doing?"

"You will see, after you make me a sandwich. I am famished." He chuckled and went back down the stairs to follow her command. She was finished in the bedroom by the time he had prepared their plain meal, walking down to enjoy her sandwich and milk. "Thank you! I missed you. A whole lot. I know I told you that at least ten times each day since I showed up in Near-Wichita, but I really missed you. The company of others is simply odd, especially that of Mafiosi and Camorristi, what with you not there to scold me like usual."

"I bet I missed you more. It was so strange, even if I did make a friend there. Those guys apparently know every little thing about the gangs," he said. "It's like they watch everyone."

"I bet they do. If they are invisible, it is possible. I like the idea of it though; everyone there was much more polite than I ever expect from organizations. Not that you or your men are rude, but with the bigger gangs," she explained, pausing to gnaw into her sandwich. "You find so many hot-heads it is difficult to resist the urge to shoot a few. I am lucky to never have lost my own patience with that."

"How much were you in contact with people like that?"

"Not terribly often." The last of her milk slid down her throat before she continued. "I was not fond of them. It is the fact that the Gandors and Martillos are so kind to a lady that makes me enjoy associating with them." No conversation persisted until Luck was also finished with his food, with Alia on her toes to drag him along to the bedroom. "Alright! You should see your surprise!"

"What are you so eager for?"

"What are you so underwhelmed for? Hurry up, hurry up!"

"Okay, okay," he mocked her repetition, picking up the pace and entering their room to find a letter on the bed. "What are you doing?" Silent, she urged him on with an enthusiastic face, pressing him to open the folded letter and read, 'Dear Luck, I took the liberty of learning to read and write English while you were gone. Pretty spiffy handwriting, do you not agree?' "Very spiffy handwriting," he answered aloud, reading on. 'If we are ever apart again, I hope you are at least where I can speak to you on the phone and send you letters, because living without your sandwiches and psychology books is difficult enough without total deprivation of you included.' "You're silly." Alia stifled laughter.

"That word sounds so odd rolling off of your tongue," she said. "Really, though, I missed you. It was truly terrible living without my dearest Luck, no matter how big and serious you get."


	113. Deranged Distortion of Time and Age

**A/N: **This is where things get stupid, or at least more stupid than before. I just thought I would give you a head's up.

* * *

"You got out of telling me last month's thing."

"Alright," she groaned, thinking over. "Clocks. I need them because my sense of time is terrible. Minutes can seem to be hours, and hours can seem to be minutes, so I check constantly. My memory is so stretched and skewed and torn and damaged that clocks are necessary to keep them all organized chronologically."

"And what's the next one? There's the kitchen, and there's Evio."

"I suppose.. I should tell you about Evio," she set her book down and swung her legs nervously from her seat on the couch. "He was in love with me, romantically, and I found that to be a good thing. There was no way he would ever hurt me. It was safe, and I trusted him, but I did not love him that way. It was sick the way in which I did. It was not a romantic love, but something like that of a mother for a son, and so he would tell me he loved me, and I would be happy, because I was safe, but I would never say it back, because it was not the same sort of love. Obviously, he could not be happy with that. He tried to be. I forced him to try to be happy with me using him as a scarecrow so I would not have to deal with other men, as he loved me and I looked to him like he was my child. For that, I am disgusting," the more she spoke the sorrier she sounded, too ashamed to look at him as she explained.

When she finally looked, she was unable to decipher the expression on his face. It contained an amount of disappointment, maybe, and some disgust. There was certainly confusion, and a pain that could not slip past even someone looking at him with blind eyes.

"So, that's what a relationship is to you? Is it making people love you just so you can have a shield? I don't get it at all," he said, urging himself to stay seated as he kept her eyes on his. He seemed to have the skill that made it impossible to look away sometimes. "Is it supposed to be funny? There has to be something more to it than your own sick benefit."

"What could possibly be amusing about something like that?"

"So you're really that simple? You know, here you had me thinking you just acted simple and that maybe you were covering up something really complex, but everything you've been saying is right." As his tone rose, so did he, looking down on her. She seemed to have the skill that made it impossible not to lose himself sometimes. "You're just sick, in the most literal sense possible. You are very mentally unwell."

"Perhaps I am, but do you have any idea how much I have been recovering since you? I love you."

"Oh, I'm sure you do love me. Like a son. Just like you loved him."

"That is not true," she shouted, standing as well. "Guilty people do not repeat their offense!"

"Not the truly guilty ones," agreed Luck, losing his volume and trading it for offensive glares. Alia's visage displayed an intense surprise and indignation as she stepped back from him.

"I am being accused of feigning my emotions now?" A scoff hit her in the face.

"Have you never admitted to wearing false expressions?"

"Only smiles," insisted the woman as her anger wore and worry took her brow. "Never such things as guilt." His reply was delayed as he examined her face and she became more uncomfortable and defensive with herself moment by silent moment.

"Never fear, either," he said, taking her shoulders and continuing to look her over. "What is it? You're standing here saying you really are guilty and that you really do love me, but I can see that you really do fear me, as well, and maybe you are truly guilty but I think your fear is what overlooks the guilt entirely while ruling your actions. So tell me what it is I do to scare you. Hell, while you're telling me why you're so scared of me, you can tell me what you've got with kitchens."

"What?" She panicked as he began to pull her toward the kitchen, feeling her heart rate spike during her struggle. "No, Luck, what are you doing?"

"It seems like you can handle it when you're alone, or with women or children. You were happy to serve Julie and Berenice from it, but damn, when a man is involved, it's not worth the trouble it puts your nerves through, is it?" asked a cold voice she made no way to connect to the man she knew as Luck Gandor as they entered the kitchen and she held her breath. "So what is it here? You're not actually afraid of this place, you just don't like it. You're only afraid of it when I'm here, so if you love me, what difference should I make? I would think people you 'love' would make a positive change to negative places, but I guess I've got this whole romance thing all wrong."

"What do you want from me?"

"I want you to tell me the truth."

"The truth is that I am sorry for what I have done to Evio and that I could never do such a thing again," Alia claimed, contending his disbelieving eyes with her own persistent ones. "Especially not to you." She softened, raising a hand to caress his face. "Please calm yourself, dear."

"How can I believe anything you say at this point? How can I believe I'm not only a son to you and your deranged distortion of time and age?"

"How could something so magical be 'only' anything?" she asked, pulling his head down in order to give him a soft kiss. Though still caught in a mélange of emotions, he granted her his kiss in return and loosened his grip on her shoulders.

As the kiss progressed it became rougher and more consuming. More assurance was needed and she eagerly gave. She offered no protest to his hands moving to her waist as she wrapped her arms around his neck. Despite her nervousness being in the environment she most despised while with him, someone whom she was weak against for love and for fear alike, she let the former take over in her actions.

His fingers crawled over to the buttons of her dress, starting at the bottommost over her waist until the slight whimper that broke their lips apart. "Here?" she asked, given a nod as he continued and she surrendered, loosening his tie and reconnecting the kiss.


	114. The DogEared Page

Luck felt sorry as ever after his little fit. It had been the first time they were intimate after returning home, and while it was memorable, it was not exactly so for any pleasant reason, given the situation. Alia was silent for quite some time after, and distant. No progress had been made and only foolishness had been proven as, while she seemed not to be upset, she detached herself.

It was curious, though, if one could attach any description to their last point of relations. That time must have been the first she indicated the slightest amount of physical pleasure, or was it only because he depended on it? Surely that would have slipped her awareness through everything.

It was a week before he dared to engage in conversation, arriving home to find her sleeping on the couch. He sat in the chair, amused by the many blankets stacked on top of her as autumn had turned the trees gold and red but the sky a pale slate-like color with feathers in the clouds. Picking up the nearest English book, he began to read, finding it to be a psychology book dog-eared to a certain page.

Eventually, her eyes fluttered open and she rubbed at them, yawning quietly. "I have been reading that. It is actually quite interesting."

"So you're not mad at me anymore?" he asked as though it was a statement with his smile that matched the clouds from that afternoon, which were now covered by the dark evening.

"I was never angry. I was confused. But I have sorted myself, with the help of that book, and can now continue to take part in your many baffling conversations."

"How am I baffling?"

"How are you not?" asked Alia, amused as she climbed onto the chair in a straddling position. His eyes widened slightly.

"You're nude."

"Casually. The curtains were drawn, not to worry. I got very warm all of a sudden, so I took my clothes off."

"But there you were sleeping with so many blankets," he protested, not quite sure why he would do so.

"Well, I got cold after that. I see not what the issue is. Sudko says nudity is natural and healthy," she chuckled. "Then again, I believe he has become addicted to sexual pleasure. I cannot manage to blame him."

"You have a crude sense of humor."

"What? He must prevent frustration somehow. I am not so overtaken by my new perceptions that I have become biased for his own crudity, I simply do not blame him," Alia denied, leaning in to look him in the eye as she pushed the book away. "Though I do take interest in those perceptions, if you are alright with indulging them every once in a while. Not necessarily now, but sometimes."

"Oh, you're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Well, you know, I am nude, and in need of a bath, so if things go the way I please, you will be also, and since it seems your new game is making love in places I despise.." she trailed off, allowing everything to finish in his mind while she brought their lips just barely apart. "Actually, I think I can bathe alone. I will be very careful." He was left with his mouth slightly agape as she climbed the stairs alone. When her ankles disappeared and the water began to run, he opened to the page she had kept for herself and read.

'Dilated eyes were shown in both male and female subjects while aroused.'

"Oh, well then," mumbled Luck under his breath before chuckling. "Casually my ass."


	115. Details Unneeded and Unwanted

It had been a long time since Luck and Clay had one of their little meetings while Alia and Sudko did whatever it was those two did, even if he had stopped smelling pineapple juice on her hands.

"It's weird. There's all this increased sexuality with her when before she wasn't so.. deviant about it. It was more something she did as a service rather than a pleasure."

"Keep in mind that it's really new to her. She's only known intercourse as a man's activity before, and a woman's obligation, so now, she's just seeing her way around it. It'll pass. At least she's not like Sudko. Sudko uses those things to distract himself from upcoming tantrums. It never really works," said Clay, mumbling behind his warm mug of tea. "It just postpones it, and gives me warning, if anything, but the fits inevitably occur." Luck thought about the sorts of violent spurts Alia's friend had, and was glad there was no such necessity for wariness with her.

"Is he really violent?"

"Not towards me. It's more towards that girl. Consciously, he doesn't blame Alia—not really. He killed her husband out of his own accord and has no true guilt for having done so, but when he did, it threw him off. He behaves differently now," he answered. "He thinks morbid things, and those make him guilty, and he often hates himself for it. Most of those things are about Alia, which makes him feel even worse." The man sighed and bit a fingernail while trying to choose words.

"There are times where he's asked me to commit him to a hospital. I never could do it.. I really don't want to talk about that. Anyway, he's been going about town with the little pest very often, lately. I think having places to be helps him. It keeps him from reading disgusting things, like those books he gave Alia."

"He never gave them to her. I've kept them. They wouldn't be good for her anyhow. The things that go on in it are terrible. It would be a bad influence if she saw it as a psychological experiment with valid conclusions."

"Right," Clay nodded in agreement. "They were a bad influence on Sudko. Details like that shouldn't be presented to people as unstable as he is."

"I actually don't know how much more detail I want to read on it. I've gotten to where the wife is actually showing him affection and complete submission, and he's integrating her back into life—right now she's being kept mostly in the kitchen. I think she just recently got done with the longest time she spent in the cupboard, something near a decade."

"I don't think you have much more, then."

"No, not so much more. I just won't be going through it so quickly," Luck said. "So, you read the books?"

"Yeah. I can definitely say that I developed quite a hatred for the man who wrote it as I read about all those things he did."


	116. A Countertop Observing a Statue

The experience of coming home was becoming odder and more peculiar each time he found himself finished with work. Whether that was to deter him from returning or strike his curiosity and persuade him to arrive earlier was what confused him. Most recently, he had been choosing to be early to get it out of the way, and because Alia would notice if he avoided her.

On one particular October day, he found that she had moved in a mirror supported by their shallow chest of drawers and the wall at the foot of his bed. While at first he found this concerning, arriving at a day later than that one rid him of the issue, when he found her leaning before it to study herself.

"I take that it's your turn, now?" he asked, smiling softly at her jump of shock.

"You and Evio got to be studied, so I think I should also be aware of my aspects. I never have looked intently in the mirror. I must say, I thought it would be like examining a picture. That much, I have looked at, but it is much more interesting to see myself as I currently am." He grunted as acknowledgement and looked in the mirror as well, then glanced at her reflection.

"I feel like a marble countertop observing a museum statue."

"What?"

"I'm bland."

"You are not bland. Even the small details of you are refreshing. Like right here," she took his arm and slid his sleeve down, indicating the bump on his wrist. "Where your ulna protrudes. I love it. And your cheekbones must be one of my favorite features of your facial shape. They draw so much to your eyes."

"Then try convincing me that I'm not jagged."

"Jagged is not at all a correct word. Sharp. You are like razors in all the perfect places. Any woman's heart could get cut," the small woman corrected him as she removed his tie and made her way in unfastening the buttons of his shirt. "But studying is no good when hindered by fabric."

"I'm not so sure I really want to. It seems narcissistic."

"Perhaps it is. I would not deny the label, if that was the consequence for being curious as to how I look to others." Her eyes returned to the mirror, making contact with themselves, but he could see that there was no true pleasure to it. There might have been fear, or disbelief. Was that it? No, not quite, he thought. "My eyes really are so blue." She swallowed back a lump of that something unidentifiable. "No wonder you hate them so much. " The more she focused, the more distressed she looked, as he became curious and made an attempt to make such intense eye contact with himself.

It was astonishing how the color of his own eyes seemed to change in the moments he was paying attention. Something in them was difficult to come to terms with—maybe the contrast of his pupils against the myriad of golden spokes and rings, but really the way they looked nothing like the eyes you would look into while conversing with the average Mafiosi.

"This can't be healthy," he interrupted, placing his hands firmly on either side of the mirror and lifting it.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing rash like you would do." No more protest was made by her as he turned the mirror to face the wall. "At least this way only the wall could ever be upset with itself. I need food. Are you hungry?"

"A little."

"I'll make us dinner." He left as he buttoned his shirt back up, and she dressed in preparation for the meal.


	117. A Half Lie

The light chirping of Alia's watch fluttered into the air, as she stared, fascinated by it. The toaster behind her finished browning the bread she had put there, startling her. Luck chuckled at her reaction, pecking her cheek.

"You look at that so intently."

"Fondly."

"I'm glad," he said with a smile, turning over the omelet he had been making while she put two more slices of bread in the toaster and buttered the freshly toasted ones. "You really don't have to be in here if you don't want to. I don't want to make you be somewhere you aren't comfortable."

"I will be alright," she said. "This place is not so scary.. That is a half lie. I still am not entirely comfortable with it, but this is something I am making myself do. You are not in any way to blame for my unease." Something about her new rapidly progressive mind was confusing to him. He never forced herself into those sorts of situations—ones where she bathed alone, or entered the kitchen.

"I know we made love here, and it was wrong for me to force you into that—"

"That was not you either. I like making you feel good. It would not have been the same elsewhere."

"—But that doesn't mean now you have to be here every time I am," Luck finished. "I know that you'll do as you want, but please do only that."

"Like I said, I just want to be here."

"And you don't need to bathe alone. I actually do like taking baths with you."

"Then I will bring back our baths together. It is not an issue." She gave him a reassuring smile, turning his head so that he could see her genuine eyes. "Come now. You have made a wonderful breakfast. We should eat."


	118. More Himself in Those Times

They sat in the tub of water, chuckling and splashing a little. Most of their baths resulted in water soaking the floor, unless one of them was too tired for playing around. Alia shoved her foot into Luck's cheek in order to avoid him tickling her stomach. He only laughed and took her ankle in one hand while tickling the foot with the other.

"You have the tiniest feet I've ever seen on a fully-grown body," he said, comparing it to the span from his wrist to middle finger. "Really, I haven't had feet so small since.. I don't ever remember." She wondered what Luck must have been like as a child. Some delving into photos had been done, but she was completely unaware of the personality he had at the time. While many children, she knew, did not have a definitive personality at ages before puberty, and found no real problems with the differences between conformity and nonconformity, she figured Luck was much more himself in the times those pictures were taken.

"Too bad I never got to know you as a child," Alia said, reaching for his foot and putting it to hers for comparison. It was tanner than hers, and a little rougher, but clean. "I wonder if you would have taken more of a liking or contempt for me if we had known each other. I doubt we would be lovers, though.. So I suppose it was for the best we never did see one another."

"I think I'd be fine with it either way. I do really like loving you the way I do. It feels nice, when we get along." Putting his foot down, Luck took her foot back and rubbed at the moderate arch. "But I don't think it would be the most tragic thing on earth to know each other as children. Likelihood has it we would know each other purely."

"That is the reason I wish I could have known you earlier."

"Maybe that way we would have been lovers anyway."

"Perhaps it could have been so. It is too late now, but at least we did meet." He smiled and kissed her little toes, moving to the knob on the inner side of her ankle, then toward her knee. "We can make up for when we weren't in each other's awareness."


	119. Nakedness

**A/N:** Sort of late posting today, but I had a wedding rehearsal. Free time just didn't present itself until now.

* * *

Alia rummaged through the box from the basement closet, a concentrated indent in her forehead as she shuffled through photos. It was astonishing how much the Gandor brothers had grown from being children. Berga had been pudgy and looked somewhat frightening, but as a man he had turned out to be reasonably handsome. Keith on the other hand had been always severe-looking, and with the silence in the pictures that projected onto the real live figure, she could not help but wonder what sort of thoughts went through his head, both then and currently. They could not be bright, if they made such a pout on his face.

Luck had changed most remarkably. As a younger child, he looked nothing even close to the way he looked in adulthood. The only identifying trait that had remained the same was that lock of hair that always hung down in his face. Several times, she had tried to smooth it back, just for fun. It never worked.

"What are you doing?"

"Poking my nose in business that is none of mine," she confessed with no remorse. "What else would I be doing?" He sat on the floor with her and looked through a few of the pictures as she attempted again to make that stray hair join the rest.

"It's not going to work."

"Neither is drinking milk going to make me grow, but I still try that." He snickered a bit at both of her obsessive ways of trying to force things to change.

"Because everything has to be your way. What if I like your shortness?"

"Then you are in luck. Just like I am, as I actually do love this hair."

"Oh god.."

"What?" Alia caught a blurry glance of a grey picture as Luck rushed to hide it. She reached for his hand, but his stubbornness outweighed much of hers. "What is it?" It took a few minutes of struggle to obtain the paper and view a sufficient detail of it before she began to laugh beyond control, gasping for air. "I cannot believe-! That is adorable!"

"It's stupid," Luck said.

"You better not be drunk," she snorted, composing herself as best she could. "Who took that picture, and who is the boy I always see in these?"

"It's Claire. He's the brother between Berga and me."

"Why have I never met him?"

"He ran away to join a circus and never really came back—not permanently. It's been a while since his last visit," he answered, looking over the picture of him and Claire taking a bath. "What is it about children that makes them so comfortable with nudity? It's so different from how adults see it. With adults, trust has to come before nakedness, but with children, being naked with one another makes them best friends."

"I would disagree with your statement. It is backwards. Adults see nudity different from children."

"So, then, what would you say it is?"

"Well.. I have never actually dealt with children that much, though, so I cannot give any reliable answer. When people think about being naked, it is a matter of them being completely visible, I think. The difference would be that children will trust a child that is willing to show themselves entirely, while an adult will focus primarily on their own vulnerability. Adult views would only be a perversion of child views."

"You've been reading, haven't you?"

"A little bit. Not all of it really makes sense to me," she said, sliding through the photos some more. "It gets cleared up looking at a lot of these, though. For a forced character in adulthood, you really were a free and expressive child." He scoffed a bit at one of the pictures handed to him. "Most recently I have been reading about sexuality—you probably have been able to tell from the pages I mark in books and increased sexual behavior. Nudity has been a topic that I think has been wrongly linked to sexuality. Anyway, this will all pass. Though I am exploring intercourse, I find making love much more enjoyable."

"As long as it'll be over with soon, I'm fine with that. Just don't go to shady pornography theatres or seek the assistance of other men in your little exploration."


	120. Eburnine and Ebony

"Stay home today," she muttered against his neck as he let out a sigh.

"I have to go today. There's a meeting with another family and Berga can't ever keep his head, so I'm naturally the talker during these damn things." Alia groaned and let him go, fixing his suspenders and tie as he put on his suit jacket and trench coat. "Alia." Opening the drawer to the foyer table, she revealed his hat and put on his head. He adjusted it and left for work with a quick peck to the lips. She watched his shoes out the door. They were due for a shining.

She sat at the piano she had been thinking of getting rid of. Little skill was held in her for it, but for that one a minor waltz. Her fingers knew their way around the eburnine and ebony keys by the memories of the little muscles, she played it so often while Luck was gone. In a way, she cheating at her little music box game, except that on the piano, it made her just a little less sad. At any rate, it was just like on March the twenty-third when she claimed that it was her game, and they were her rules to break by her whim.

"I really am horrible at games," Alia mumbled to herself. "The ones I cheat at are the ones I lose anyway. Kitchens. My, what will I tell him? Just enough to seem like everything? Nothing? How dishonest can I be before the honest value of love proclamations lowers drastically?" The conversation with herself continued as she played that song as if on the barrel of that box—repeatedly—until she was no longer able to tolerate it and brought out different music to study and figure out.

I was a sad little piece that she had trouble finding fondness for, with jumps everywhere and confusing verses all condensed onto a page whereas she would have found it simpler if more spread out to be examined. She played over the melody a few times, trying to get a feel for the voice part, but her mind's absorbance ran short even with the notes ringing in the shells of her ears. The only person she could ever imagine singing this was one of the women she had been friends with that died. Without a doubt, she would have sung it proficiently, knowing her high-floating voice that could so effortlessly jump the many intervals between the words.

"She did sing this once, I believe." She turned to reading only the words and trying to remember. "'Tis the last rose of summer, left blooming alone. All her lovely companions are faded and gone. Yes, she sang that. Lord, can nothing not remind me of the deceased?" With a loud snap that stabbed through the air that was lifeless but for little hyper dust particles flying about, she shut the cover to the piano keys and opted to reading a book instead, unable to make sense of any of the words, but also refusing to put the book down.


	121. Flawlessly Inchoate

"What animal would you say I am?"

"I think…" he pondered, playing with her small hands in his large ones. "That you try to be a great, big lioness."

"That sounds fierce."

"Mm," Luck gave a lazy confirmation. "But in reality, you're just a kitten." At his words she couldn't help but laugh aloud.

"Now I sound like such a shy thing."

"Oh no, you have more guts that you should in a world like this, but at the same time, a little bit of instinct's there for you," he chuckled along with her, turning her fingers over to gaze upon. "You're just lucky you're not killed by some of the decisions instinct doesn't make."

"Only because I would not be able to enjoy your company any longer."

"The company of which animal?"

"Ahh, my turn to be thinking now," she complained jokingly as she pressed onto him in their place on the couch. "Let me see.." Taking a hold of his face, she bore into his eyes with hers, before a humorous glint crossed her face and she let go with the most casual of movement he had ever seen in her.

"Human," she claimed decidedly. "You are purely, flawlessly human."

"That's not fair."

"It is perfectly fair. No one said to choose an animal other than the one the subject is."

"It should've been an unspoken rule," argued the unjustly treated man. "All humans are already humans."

"Outside, but you are human inside as well; you are divinely so."

"…You're so weird," he scoffed in amusement. "I'm not sure if I could say you're human all the way, though with most of the humans I know, I'm not sure it's a bad thing." In a playful swoop, he turned her over so that he was above her, looking at her. "You sure look the part, but there's something inchoate about your insides that says you're just not quite there." She furrowed her brow, looking him back in the face and trying to figure out just what he meant, even if it was plain. His smile eased and faded. "What is it? Hey, what's-" A tug at is shoulders brought him down to where she could hide in his chest.

He dared not interrupt her way of covering herself. She would likely shut him up or reply with something unhappy, which he would then argue with, as it seemed they always did argue. All he could do was sit up and see if she was angry, but she followed, in her own action explaining that she was less enraged as she was something he was unable to decipher with such a poor view of her face.

"Don't think of it as a bad thing. Just be happy you've got some growing room."

"Growing room," the girl chuckled at the thought. "Alright, I will not mope." Her tone expressed otherwise, furthering his guilt. He stroked her hair as a means of comfort, then lifted her head so she would look at him.

"I mean it. You're fine. Why'd the air have to get so heavy?" An apologetic smile replaced an answer and he was left baffled by her behavior, but he had the feeling if he tried to press it any further, it would only make things worse. He left it alone.


	122. All Wrong

The ticking of the metronome at a tempo of 60 beats per minute pierced through the air each second. The grandfather clock with its reflective pendulum matched it, and they ticked together. Her watch, after having been stopped for a moment to catch up to the time of the larger clock, was started again and let to make its tiny sound with the other two timing devices. Every clock in the house was set to the exact same time, and each voice sang its note in the same exact instant as the other voices.

"Have you ever heard of the composer Scriabin, Luck?"

"I feel like I might have, but I've never listened to the music."

"I have never met another person who liked it. He did odd things with the music. It was atonal, and, being so, unpleasant to most people. But I like it." Luck sat beside her on the piano bench and looked over the keys. He hardly understood anything of music, even though he would have liked to. It seemed hard to pick up, though, like an entire new language and a different way of moving. Maybe playing piano was a little like typing, in movement anyhow. He had done that, but if you made a mistake with a type writer, you could always correct it. Mistakes in music sounded bad. Alia made quite a few mistakes, actually, every time after which she would become frustrated.

"What sort of odd things?"

"I cannot entirely tell. Reading music is still very difficult for me, as is playing it," she said, rummaging through a square basket for a booklet of music and opening it so show him. "He liked to change time and key signatures and use unsettling chords and intervals—that is what I notice, anyway. I think I might try to get Kate to help me out now and then."

"I'm sure she wouldn't mind that. You stayed with her and Keith for a couple of days when I was gone, right?" A nod was her answer.

"They were good to me. Both were so quiet, I felt a little out of place, but it was still comfortable in a way."

"You really get along better with Berga and Kalia, huh?"

"I can talk to them. My greatest joy in life is talking, so naturally, I would be more at ease with them than Keith and Kate," Alia explained. "I look forward to the next Hanukkah. We will celebrate with them again, right?"

"Yeah. I've been thinking I'll force my parents into it too." He laughed at her twisted expression. "They don't hate you."

"I bet I make them feel like Sciabin's compositions: all wrong to them."

"I've told you before, Ma hates everyone I associate with. Try not to think badly of her. She just doesn't like when I date all these youthful girls who know how to deal with men but not life." It was her turn to laugh now, slapping him on the back a few times.

"I know my way around neither of those things. It is probably why you called me.. 'inchoate' I think the word was," she stood from the bench and put down the cover to the keys, barely having to bend down to kiss his cheek and whisper "I'm about to take a bath and go to bed, but there is just this little bit of energy here with no purpose.." They exchanged smirks as he stood and she hurried up the stairs.


	123. A Cold Slap to the Face

"Ugh," groaned Alia. "Why is it snowing so early in November?" Luck put a knee up on the couch and wiped a face-sized area of window free from fog, peering through the grey outdoors.

"Well, I'll have to take the car to work," he concluded, looking down at the miserable, slouching figure. "But I like the rosy pink it puts on your cheeks." She propped herself up to grin at him, then looked back out the window with solemn features.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I did not sleep well. I think I will go dress.. Could you drive me to Sudko and Clay's?" she asked as she labored up, being given acknowledgement and dismissal. Before the mirror, she dressed, giving herself the same look up and down as she usually did. The previous month, she had decided that she was satisfied with her somewhat bulky figure, and round face, but the eyes still bothered her, and those were the things she mostly looked at. On that day, they were especially irksome, taking a few moments to pry from as she clad herself in warmer clothes and pulled Luck's old coat onto her arms.

"You ready to go?" he asked as he peeked through the doorway. "There's time for another cup of coffee while we wait for the car to warm up."

"That would be nice." Down the stairs she stepped, and into the dining room. They shared a quiet drink while he read a little column in the newspaper for something to do. When they finished, they bothered not to set the mugs in the sink, as leaving the mugs there would usually remind them to do the dishes. It was just a little habit they'd stared.

"Prepare yourself for a cold slap to the face," he joked as he began to open the door.


	124. The Only Witness, Godlike

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Clay shouted at her as she shut the door. "I told you he was—"

"Yes, yes," she interrupted, looking over his restraint of a fitful Sudko. On sight of her, he started, the tantrum growing. With a sigh, she dropped her coat and straightened herself out before kneeling to their place on the floor. Both looked about to strangle her as she took the fretful one in her arms. "Friends that are only friends when you are having a good day, are not good friends."

His fingernails dug into her back through her clothes as he groaned in agony. Something about his fit was different from what she would have thought. She heard all these stories about him being violent toward himself, and she there was there in instances where he had been so toward her, but this was a quieter pain that she was not used to observing in him.

She could feel the tears running onto the shoulder of her dress as she held him tightly in an attempt to put him at better ease. It could have very likely frustrated him for her to be there, as it often did during these episodes, but the man not even much bigger than her made none of his usual violent actions.

"I hope one day we are not like this," she said, rubbing his back soothingly.

"Like what? Alive?"

"Unhappy. I hope our life is mended."

"Our life.." scoffed the man.

"Yes. Your life is a part of mine, and if you were not to live, then part of me would not be living. That is a fact to me, and so you must not die, and I will not die, so I may keep after you. The only way for me not to do so would be for you to kill me." The moment they had become a part of each other's constant company, it had seemed this was so.

"Well, shit. I could never kill you."

"And so I will be looking after you for as long as you are alive." His arms around her squeezed tighter as he buried himself in her shoulder, and they melted away from the world as their one being. He was well aware of the nurturing complex ruling her action, as she was of his threatening one reining his, but with no world capable of judging them in that cold apartment, that had no effect on them.

The only outsider to witness this stood godlike in the doorway.


	125. The Romance of Anglerfish

They sat on the floor of the kitchen with their plates of food, unsalted and without seasoning, bland but in all ways a satisfying meal. It was silent. Almost painfully. She knew that Luck was going to expect his confession soon, and along with it, he would likely ask about her recent withdrawing ways.

Into the sink she put their dishes, then returned to the floor and rested her head on his crossed legs, staying in her comfortable speechlessness for a while. Finally, she saw where it was becoming too much, and spoke. "I wish we were anglerfish. That way you could just latch onto me and be absorbed and I could let you be a little parasite of me. I would be happy with that, even though we would be ugly."

"Anglerfish?"

"Yes. That is how anglerfish mate. The male becomes a permanent part of the female so that she no longer needs to find males—she can just get the reproductive means she needs from the one on her," Alia explained. "I completely forgot how I learned this. I think it was from some sort of book this friend of mine read from my husband's library. It was interesting though. As odd and twisted as it was, I found it somewhat romantic."

"You find the oddest things romantic," he chuckled with still a little confusion as he stroked her face with his thumbs. "Maybe that's just something strangely romantic about you."

"You know, everything about you is romantic."

"I have trouble understanding that," argued Luck. "How many times have I scolded you?"

"Oh, many, but it has nothing to do with the scolding. It is your movement," she said. "Which is the only reason I would not want to be an anglerfish, unless you were the female and I latched onto you so that you could move. You are too romantically elegant to keep still."

"Wow. You've got to be in some sort of mood. Here I thought something was wrong.."

"Only a little. We are calm, and rather happy right now, even in this location. It makes me think that all memories in such a room should be as nice."

"What do you mean by that?"

"That the reason I dislike kitchens is because I associate them with negative memories—Sudko's tantrums, as well as my own. It was even in a kitchen I learned about anglerfish, though that memory is not so bad. The point I am making is that I have always feared that entering a kitchen with someone whose intentions I was not absolutely certain of would cause those memories to repeat, and that is why I have always avoided them."

Luck mulled over the thought that that was not at all how kitchens should be. He had always remembered them as the source of warm scents, and his mother humming. It was the place from which came hot milk on the nights as a child when he had frightening dreams, and where he would play under the table with Claire and Firo, like those hanging gingham cloths sealed them off from the outer world. In no way could he have ever imagined it to be, for him, the source of the nightmares, where anxiety sprouted and where safety was a seldom expressed entity.

"I promise, if we don't work out, I'll still be close to make sure kitchens are nothing but wonderful for the rest of your life." She laughed lightly, turning onto her side and burrowing her face in his leg.

"I am very grateful for you."


	126. A Clumsy Little Dance

**A/N: **This part is... bad... but I'll talk to you about it at the end of these 884 words.

* * *

The sheets shuffled under her movement. Futilely, he tried to pull her back, ending up alone in early-morning air. She got dressed without making too much noise, careful not to disturb him, but her being up and about was enough to put him out of ease.

"What are you doing getting ready for whatever so early in the morning?"

"Sudko has been having issues the past few weeks. It seems they are occurring earlier and earlier in the morning, so today I thought I would show up early just in case." Luck groaned.

"Do you need me to drive you?"

"I can take a cab."

"You realize how suspicious this sounds, right?" he asked, opening one eye to give her a stern look while she kissed his forehead. "You better not be seeing someone else, or going to one of those creepy, perverted theatres again." A surprised guffaw burst out her throat.

"I have had my fun with the theatres, and you know that I could never find someone with as magnificent a posture and personality as you," she assured him, kissing the protruding place of his cheek. "I love you. See you tonight." With the tug of her coat onto her arms, she was gone, leaving him unable to fall back asleep. He reached into the nightstand and pulled out the book which Sudko had given him, reading one entry. That was usually enough to occupy his thoughts for a considerable amount of time.

'June the Fifteenth, 1883:

It has been the longest time since she last slept in a real bedroom. The transition to my larger estate has gone rather well, and she seems to admire the new surroundings. There is still a stagger in her gait as she runs her fingers down the damasked walls. The fainting couches I have put in place where she finds herself most pleased have proved useful given her short energy. Despite these things, she improves greatly, now able to hold a meal down and perform many adult tasks independently, with her snarl vanished and the hatred once apparently held for me now invisible.

Her chamber is separate from mine, but often she takes it upon herself to sleep with me. I cannot say I object, though am partial to the dark while she is not, making it slightly difficult to sleep, but then, how could one wish to sleep when the lamp is on and she studies intently the movement of her shadow? It is like a clumsy little dance of sorts, beautiful in all its poorness, and I find myself attracted to her newfound fascination for herself. It is now something we share.

Behavior aside, her hair is growing back as nourishment enters her body, just as it seems her menstruation has continued. This is a substantial progress in her health, and I suspect that the health of her mentality may soon follow. In time, I may even see that she bears a child. This would be a very nice aspect to observe of her.'

Luck closed the book, certain he had gotten his fill of information to mull over. It struck a nerve down his spine like arctic waters to think of a man possibly creating a child for the sole purpose of experimentation as he decided moving might rid him of the feeling. Making breakfast and showering helped him none. He only kept thinking, finally wondering what sort of effect Alia's music box had on melancholy thoughts. Did they really simply lighten afterwards?

He settled down on the bed with his wet hair and took the box delicately in his hands, as though it would shatter if he applied too much pressure. A curious finger and thumb reached for the turnkey, but it fell onto the crumpled blanket and lied there staring at him with two silver bits. With a few seconds of study, he picked it up and fit it into the lock to a little drawer, opening it to reveal its contents.

A picture lied on top of a pile, and it was all he dared touch in fear of noticeably disturbing the order of the photographs. It was all he cared to touch as it was a surprise to his eye. Alia was there, and a man who looked near exactly as Sudko did, only with darker locks of hair. She held onto his arm and looked directly into the camera, while he looked at her. Neither was happy. If they had been smiling, he was convinced they would still not look happy.

They were dressed in old attire; their clothes must have been from some forty-five years ago.

That detail lived in his mind a short while. Alia's hand rested on her bulging stomach, catching Luck's unbelieving stare until he turned to the back of the page in search for a date. 'Date of photo is March the Ninth. Child is very large in her belly now, and we expect she will show herself for the first time very soon.' He recognized the handwriting as that which he had been reading since Sudko gave him the set of books, furrowing his brow and swallowing all the questions that were accumulating in his throat, because he knew the answers to them.

"'He stabbed her,'" he said. "Dear God, Alia."

* * *

**A/N: **Okay, that's finally gotten out of the way. I've been dropping so many hints about this and I'm sure some people have figured it out, or, for future readers, will. Actually, it would be a little surprising if they didn't, and that's not to insult anyone's intelligence, but to make a mockery of my terrible skills in foreshadowing.

Anyway, here's a huge thanks for reading, and I don't mean to beg or hold future chapters hostage or anything ridiculous like that, but some reviews would be much appreciated. I like knowing what I could improve on (like, in this case, foreshadowing.) and where I made mistakes. Don't be afraid to point out what's wrong with what I've written! It's more flattering than compliments to know that someone is willing to help me to be a better writer.


	127. The Suffocating Cold of Winter

Her lips pressed onto his, but he did not romance her in a return, earning from her a look of puzzlement before she nipped at his neck and trailed to his chest. As he nudged her away from him, her forehead wrinkled with worry, her eyes trying to catch his to no avail. He refused to glance back, her lips pressing together in refrainment from saying anything stupid.

"What have I done?"

"I'm just not in any mood," he insisted, turning away from her.

"You are lying."

"Stop it. You always do this."

"You never tell me anything," she argued.

"We're not having this argument again," he said, standing and hastily dressing himself. He had no patience for all the usual garments, settling with a singlet and his pants as he tugged his socks and shoes on and went down the stairs for his coat.

"Where are you going?" In her concern she shot up and sped after him.

"Nowhere," in his blank tone he expressed his refusal to answer, shutting the door in her face, only for it to open again with her tugging his arm.

"Stop. I will not argue you; please stay," pleaded Alia, using as much of her weight as she could to hold him back, finding no use in doing so as he entered his car without her and drove off. With a muttered question to herself as to what had happened, she took burning cold steps back to the front door, sitting on the concrete covered with a thin layer of snow.

For the first time in ages, she shivered truly, not from the cold, but from the absence of warmth, the sudden distance between her and what was lovely that had not been there before, and she couldn't help but ponder whether this was how every winter felt, and if it was as suffocating as this was.


	128. A Small Part of a Supercentenarian Life

The door to Luck's office opened just as he threw his glass at the wardrobe inside which he remembered locking her. Brown eyes widened at the sight.

"Wow," commented Firo, awed. "I haven't seen you losing your shit in quite some time." The man across the room made no gesture of being amused, staring his friend soberly in the eye and then glancing back at the wardrobe.

"When I was getting ready to start a fight with the Candelas," Luck began to explain. "I locked Alia in that wardrobe, for five minutes, and when she got out, I thought she was just being dramatic, but she said it felt like a century." He looked with shame down at his desk, trying not to allow his face to be anything but straight.

"I don't see why that should be a problem now," he mumbled uncertainly, adjusting his hat. Anything that could make Luck throw more things needed to be said in the most submissive way, or he would take some sort of offense by it. The man kept from looking back at his friend, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair.

"I don't even know how to explain," he sighed tiredly. He looked at least two hundred years older to Firo, all grey and ready for the end of his life. Luck wasn't angry, Firo could determine, but he was definitely unhappy with that wardrobe.

"Something really bad is happening with Alia."

"She doesn't have any idea," he confirmed. "I can't confront her, and she thinks I'm upset.. Well, I am, but not with her.."

"I'm afraid I don't get what's going on."

"You remember the books I was reading, that experiment a man did on his wife. He made her numb inside and out and then locked her in a pantry. When she was ever outside of it, she was in the kitchen. She lost the ability to keep track of time. Eventually, she was let out permanently. He impregnated her, but killed the child, and she kept the music box she had gotten for it. She went on to find a man who was nearly the same age as her child would have been, and developed at motherly love for him, but he was romantically attracted to her. Her best friend devoured the husband, and went mad. The company that the husband had owned went to her. Now she lives with me, and somehow all of that flew right by me." Firo's face twisted into a disturbed expression. "How did I not put that together?"

"It's Alia?"

"She doesn't know I know any of this. All I'm supposed to know is what she told me, and she left out some very key details to get by with that.. I don't know what to do, Firo," Luck tilted his head back in exasperation and a sort of helplessness that it seemed only his best friend would ever be allowed to see. "Every time she kisses me now, all I can think about is how she doesn't deserve the burden of being supercentenarian, and how much has happened to her when all this time I've treated her like she was younger than me, because she was supposed to be. She should be."

"I don't know all those words, but hell, even I don't think I can look at her the same. I can't blame you for being this way about it," said Firo, walking over to the guest chair and propping his feet up on Luck desk, trying to comprehend the situation. "You still love'er?"

"I loved her when I didn't know about her being the woman in the books, and I loved the woman in the books, so how could I not? I just don't think I can handle actually being a part of a life so big.."

"Why's that?"

"Because I've known her a year and that makes me a small part of that life, and it means I've got no chance at helping it get any better."

"Unless you stay awhile and become a big part of it."


	129. Trading Scents

He allowed her to sit in his lap, putting his book down on the little table next to his chair in the living room. Her every move made his stomach shift. Everything was different for him, but the same for her, and so she behaved the same despite his latest differences in action.

Her hands held onto the top of the chair behind him, enveloping him in her, and she loved it, but he was nervous. His fingers clutched onto the armrests and he avoided her touch, as well as her gaze, and especially her kiss. Eventually, he was made to oblige, though, and their lips met awkwardly due to his flinching, with open eyes and anxiety from him. She pulled away and tried to find something in his exposed but defensive face, unable to tell what was bothering him no matter how deeply she searched.

Again, their lips met, with her putting every ounce of her affection into it for some assurance. He backed down again. She tried to soften up to make him come back, and he did, despite himself.

It continued until he was the most comfortable he could force himself to be. She smiled into his mouth and held his head on either side, weaving her fingers through the short, soft locks of hair. He was still reluctant to put his hands anywhere on her, clothed or bare, but lightly cradled her waist, or what she had of a waist, in a touch she could hardly feel. For hardly being able to feel it, it was painful.

She was unable to grasp his unwillingness to touch her, as if she had suddenly become something frightening or unsightly. It wiped away her smile and put a frown in her forehead as she tried more and more to make him love her. He did love her, so her attempts were unneeded, and felt unsuccessful, until all she could do was surrender to her new doubt of both herself and him.

Alia stood shyly, holding her arms and looking at the floor, whispering her goodnight and climbing up the stairs to her room to sleep. He stayed behind and stared at the pendulum of the clock, his sorry reflection static in the glass until he was unable to bear it any more, following up the stairs, but to his separate room.

His pillow was missing, the one that actually matched everything else in the room. Alia's obnoxiously rose-patterned one replaced it, putting at least the slightest smile on his face as he rested on her side of the bed, that held that sickly smell of sugar and vanilla. In her room, similarly, she clutched his harsh and rich scent.


	130. The Car to Somewhere

They were in the car to somewhere, and he refused to tell her, or say any word to her, to where or for what reason, no matter how much she asked. Whether it was to be a surprise or to keep her from protesting, she paid no mind, she just wanted to be told. The car was silent, as the two had been since he first began to feel smothered by her newly old presence, along most of the way to wherever the hell it was they were going, as they glanced between each other.

"What would you do if you got pregnant?" Alia started at the question, looking at him incredulously.

"How would that even happen? We are too careful for that."

"It's just something I'm wondering," said Luck, shrugging and throwing her a short look before returning his gaze to the icy road.

"It has absolutely no substance behind it, though. There is no way it would happen."

"That's not true. Just because you've got your contraception doesn't mean it couldn't happen."

"Well, it will not happen."

"But what if it did?"

"Then I am not sure."

"What would you do?" he asked. "It's a simple question."

"It is a very complicated question!" she exclaimed, her hands talking in the distracting way they often did. "Is this what you have been so silent about all this time?"

"Just answer the question."

"Answer mine!"

"I asked you first," insisted the man.

"Oh, we are children now! That is wonderful. All arguments are over who asks who which question first- is that so?" she practically screamed at him. "If we did have a child, we would have some time explaining to them as they grow why they behave older than we do!" Luck flinched and lost track of the road, several cars blaring their horns as he ran a red light. There was no crash, but an intense rush of fear of one, and an internal shock and pause before they could continue. "Watch the goddamn road!"

"That's really hard when you're shouting and flailing!" he turned the finger toward her.

"How else am I supposed to react to such a question?"

"With a fucking answer!" A knock on the passenger window interrupted as a police officer tapped for attention. Alia opened the window to let the man speak.

"Is everything going alright here?"

"Fine," said Luck.

"Marvelous."

"Alright," said the officer, obvious in his attempts not to feel like an intruder, though his occupation much required him to be one. "Sir, may I have your license?" As Luck reached into the glove box on her side, she swatted him away, getting the paper herself and handing it over as a ticket was written out. "Running that red light back there was almost the cause of a collision," he looked at the female of the car as he spoke, handing her the ticket and license to pass on to Luck. They both looked at their laps in shame as she muttered.

"I will pay the ticket."

"I'll pay it," Luck insisted, and they continued to argue.

"If it'll prevent any further distraction, I might offer to drive the young lady to whatever destination she's headed," interrupted the policeman, preparing to open the car door for Alia until she began to climb into the back seat.

"That is unnecessary, thank you. I will no longer be speaking to this man and will therefore not be a disturbance."

".. Right. Have a nice day, then." The man left and Luck stretched over to close the window, continuing to drive.

"We're going to the train station to pick up my brother."


	131. Twenty Plus Gaius

"So I found this kitten," Claire pulled a tiny thing that he called a kitten, but that she would likely have called a roll of mud, out of his coat pocket, and dropped it into her lap. "And I named it Gaius Julius Caesar Augustus Germanicus."

"It?"

"I'm not sure of its sex."

"Then why name it after a man? Especially one who was rumored to have sawn people down the middle, groin first, as they hung upside-down?" The redheaded man shrugged.

"I just like the name, and he was only rumored to have sawn people. You can't prove it actually happened."

"Such is true," she admitted, looking at the mewing little thing and urging to give it a bath and food. "But if it is female, I am calling it Gaia Julia Caesarina Augusta Germaine. Get it cream, though. There should be some in the fridge, and I will bathe it. We should also see if it may be sick." Alia stood from the couch and held the kitten gingerly on her way up the stairs to the washroom, leaving the brothers behind to converse.

"She's pretty cute," said Claire, turning to his little brother and observing the uneager attitude he had toward the subject. "What's wrong with her?"

"I don't want to talk about it. Any problem I have with her is my problem and I'll deal with it myself." Luck knew trying this would only be remotely functional for so long. Already he had managed to make Alia upset with him, and he was afraid she would leave him. If she stayed, there was no guarantee that he could last for much more before leaving her, and yet he could not speak, because her reaction to him knowing the secret she had made such an effort to keep would very improbably be positive.

"You doubt that."

"This is why we never talk. You know me."

"Talk to her. Chane and I talk, even though she doesn't. There's not much her eyes can keep from me, and I couldn't keep a secret from her if I tried."

"Alia and I aren't like that. We just.. aren't. Let it be."

"Alright," obliged the older brother. "But if you need me to talk to her for ya, I will."

"No need."

"Right. So who all will be here for Hanukkah?"

"Well there are us three in the house to start with."

"And Chane'll be here later," Claire added.

"Firo and Ennis, plus Mister and . Mister and , too, with their three kids. Keith and Berga with their wives, Ma, Pops, and Alia's friend. That should be all. I don't think we could even fit more in the house." Claire whistled with amazement.

"What is that, twenty people?" he looked up as he checked his figures mentally. "Yeah, twenty people. Plus Gaius."


	132. Bothered by Speak of Trouble

Luck Gandor was the youngest of his brothers, and in being so, obviously, the youngest of his mother's children. One might not guess it from his adult self, but as a child, he was spoiled.

While his mother cooked, he had a reservation at the counter for first tastes, and if he was not partial to the food, something more suited to him would be made. If his brothers tried to enter the kitchen, they were accused of crowding and shooed away quickly. As children, it made them bitter, but eventually, Keith and Berga grew up with no desire for their mother's embarrassing affection, and Luck was left to revel in it.

He was still the center of his mother's attention during family gatherings, and subject to constant babying. The woman happened to be the best cook in the large group, and therefore was cooking almost constantly for the celebration that the family, through option, had day-round, and because she was in the kitchen for the most part of it, so was Luck, sitting on the counter like he used to.

"You're with that girl. I can see it," his mother grumbled, earning herself a sigh. "Don't 'sigh' me."

"You sound like Berga."

"Berga sounds like me," she smirked, handing Luck a latke to make room for more in the pan. "You know I don't like her."

"I know, Ma." Apology was in his tone as he took a bite of the fried potato patty and looked over his mother's vigorousness. She hated to waste time, but when she was irritated, her patience for progress was thinned exponentially.

"When are you going to stop dating these girls and marry a nice woman like your brothers?" she asked, producing a plate of the food and setting new patties into the pan. "Even Firo has a family going, and he seems happy. Here you are and you're almost grey. She's trouble."

"You never worry when Berga fights with Kalia," Luck took it upon himself to point out the injustice.

"That's because Berga is a… Whatever your dad calls him."

"Backpfeifengesicht. A face that needs a fist in it. Dad's too harsh on him."

"He could argue with a cactus," she said. "But you don't argue like he does. You're too sensitive for that."

"I'm sensitive enough to protest every secret she keeps," he corrected her. "And she's sensitive enough to protest mine. Right now we're both guilty, and I'm sort of sick of talking about her."

"Shame. When's she giving you kids, then? Or is she possibly secretly on contraceptives?"

"I know she has them, and I'm fine with that, and I asked what she would do if it happened, because I knew you'd ask."

"And?"

"She wouldn't be sure about it, and I wouldn't either. Ma, don't mess with that. I felt pretty awful even mentioning kids to her."

"She needs a talking to. Women need children, Lucky," as she spoke, her son winced at the use of that play name.

"Why does this family have to talk so much? Are Dad and I the only ones who leave alone what needs to be? Claire already offered to talk to her, but right now, she and I need to not be around each other, and in my case, I need to not be constantly told that I look bothered. The only thing I'm bothered by is all this talk about being bothered."


	133. Oils on the Walls

The holiday ended and all the many guests went away, saving for Claire and Chane, who would be leaving the next week, and Sudko.

"My lord, I am tired," Alia let out a sigh of resignation as she threw herself onto the couch and Sudko sat on her stomach. "Ugh! Dodsy, off!" He crossed his ankles with feet on the coffee table in a gesture of refusal.

"No, I think I'm comfortable right about here."

"My diaphragm is so restricted right now," she complained loudly.

"But you can obviously breathe, because you're talking," he grinned mock nefariously. "You just have the nicest belly to use as a cushion, you know." Ignored went the fists she used in attempts to beat him off of her, until she wore herself out. "Alright, alright." He moved so that he was on the couch at her feet as he held up a little piece of silver. "Hey, Al." Alia bolted up to take back the key to her music box as Sudko began to run, leading them into the dining room, then kitchen, foyer, and back to the living room in a big circle of doors.

"Give it back," she called after him as he laughed, and eventually she found herself laughing as well, until she found that Sudko had turned around to face her. She dug into his pockets and forced his hands open but found no key, looking at his smiling face with confusion. "Oh, you better not have swallowed it!" Her hand forced his jaw open as she retrieved the key from his mouth and dashed back to the kitchen to rinse the saliva off of it. Luck, Claire, and Chane were leant against the counters nibbling at the leftover food as she did so.

"Alia," Luck addressed, causing her back to stiffen and prickle as she came to attention.

"Yes?" she choked, shocked by his sudden speech towards her as she studied him. His thumb was wounded out of nervous biting, looking painful, but she turned her mind away from it quickly and waited for him to speak again.

"Would you please stop running your hands along the walls when you walk?"

"..Why?"

"It puts oils on them," he explained curtly as Sudko approached behind her and snatched the key back, beginning the chase again and breaking the peculiar discomfort that now accompanied being spoken to by him.

"She was having fun," said Claire.

"She doesn't seem to mind not touching the walls." Seeing as his brother was unlikely to admit anything was wrong with his first words in weeks being a trivial request, Claire let it be, as he had been told during his arrival at the house.


	134. Fifty Mystery Flavored Words Exchanged

Luck went outside into the cold winter air to see Alia sitting on a folded blanket on the concrete steps. Sitting beside her, she appeared to be holding her breath, earning from him a quizzical look, but they stayed silent again. It had been a sudden burst of courage for him to vocalize his earlier request.

Finally, Alia was unable to hold her breath any longer, and let out a long cloud of smoke that smelled like tobacco with some flavor unidentifiable to him. When he was surprised, she revealed a pipe, which he took from her and drew from, letting the smoke out right in her face. He then shook the tobacco onto the ground and stamped it out, snapping the neck of the pipe and giving her a defiant look, which she met with a smile.

He was surprised to find no argument or indignant glaring, with no akimbo stance or puffed out chest to display her authority. She just smiled, and took his hand. It no longer had any trace of a wound, striking her as peculiar, but it could have been a mistake that she had seen one there to being with, so she shrugged it off and left a kiss on his knuckles.

"I miss you."

"Just let me sort my mind out, okay?"

"But what if when you are sorted, you no longer love me?" He cringed in an unexpected pain.

"Why would you even say that?"

"Because I am afraid of it happening. I would not say it otherwise."

He had no answer or clue how to make that fear go away. His only attempt was to say he loved her, and that he refused to stop, before going back inside and leaving her with the stamped out tobacco while carrying the mystery flavor of the smoke in his mouth.


	135. A Portrait of Cowards

She stood before the mirror, unfastening the buttons of her dress in the dim orange light. Her fingers were clumsy and only managed to successfully free three buttons before Luck approached from behind her and helped her with the rest. The pride inside her wanted to scold him for treating her as if she was incapable of her own undressing, but she knew that speaking that day had only gotten them nowhere, so she stayed silent in her ego's pain, and her own.

He refrained from commenting on her bothered look and freed the hooks of her corset from their eyes, leaving her in woolen undergarments. His arms then wrapped around her as he joined her in looking over their reflection. Both of them had an unspoken agreement with the other that it was a portrait of cowards.

As her face twisted, more and more disturbed by the picture, he turned her around and kissed her forehead, then cheek, then lips. He moved downward to her jaw, and her neck, and her collar, before doing away with the wool and letting every inch of her pale skin lie where his eyes could enjoy. Her hands were anxious with no place to go as his grasp took her figure firmly and his lips relished the flesh of her shoulders and breasts, moving downward to her stomach.

He laid her down on the bed and proceeded to kiss her hips, her knees, all the way down to her toes, as she hid her face in her elbow, until he kissed that too and moved it away from her face to kiss her fingertips. A guilt struck him to find that she was crying, something he had never seen before.

"No, no, no, no stop," he said hurriedly. "Don't do that." In a few moments she managed to contain her sobs and hold her tears, but it only made him feel guiltier for having made her stop. "Well, damn." She let out a half-melancholy guffaw that he returned with a coy scoff of amusement as he held her hands in his. Her eyes became lost in some worried absence, but he had lost all new ideas as to how to distract her from these, only kissing her lightly on the cheek and telling her goodnight.


	136. Too Much, Not Enough

"You look terrible," Sudko joked, pulling her excitedly to the couch so they could seat themselves foot-to-foot, backs against the arms. "Did you and Luck finally blow up?" She made no answer, narrowing her eyes in consideration.

"Well.. I have no idea."

"Well then, what happened?" he huddled in to listen to the gossip he craved.

"We spoke. He said he needs to be sorted out and I let him know I was scared he would stop loving me when the sorting was done—but not how scared I was. Last night.. well, it is difficult remembering. I was so overwhelmed. He kissed me. Everywhere, he kissed me. And I cried. I am still so afraid. I doubt he may ever know, and it is no longer so much whether he may stop loving me so soon, but whether he may stop loving me when he grows older and.."

"You don't." She nodded. "You look like you've cried."

"I have."

"I'm happy for you on that. You don't cry enough."

"You cry too much," she sneered, freshly amused.

"I cry the absolute perfect amount, and then, when I'm not crying, I have time to smile," he said, stretching over and forcing her lips into an abstract grin, and they chuckled. "Let him love you while he does, Al, and be happy while life is good, because right now, it really is. It's the best."

"Is it?"

"It is. We've got our frustrations, sure, but even I'm optimistic for the future, and it was only last year that you were convincing me to be happy. Just think, we've got millennia plus millennia to make the world ours, and you've got plenty of people in the world, right now and forever, to fall in love with. Why just this Luck Gandor?"

"Because Luck Gandor truly is the perfect coward."

"Even though you hardly ever get along?"

"Especially because of that. Because then, when we are not arguing, we have time to love each other. Right now, though, things look so awful," she sighed. "But, you are right. I should not worry."


	137. Quite the Creation

"Gaius is getting a little plumper," remarked Alia cheerfully, pinning the kitten onto his back and poking his belly.

"He'll be fat by the time he's grown," Luck replied. At this point they were capable of light conversation, but not eye contact. It made both of them wonder if that was how they started out. Neither could quite remember, putting a shame on both of them for having forgotten.

"I will not mind that."

"He won't get any lady cats," piped in Claire with a snicker, Alia gasping as if taken aback.

"It is not true, little Gaius. All the lady cats will love you no matter what, because you are the most handsome cat on the face of the earth," she insisted to the oblivious creature, letting him slip away to bathe himself. "Oh, I see how it is. You have become too good for me, is that it? Well, I did not mean anything I said." In a childish display, she stuck her tongue out at Gaius, rolling over onto her back and sprawling on the floor.

"Someone doesn't take rejection very well."

"Hey Claire, want a glass of water?"

"Sure," the face holding a head of red lock above it said, unsure of why she was asking.

"You are not welcome to water. Your wish for water is rejected. Take it," she said, bitter only in falsehood as Claire chuckled.

"Oh, the pain," he said sarcastically. "You're quite the creation."

"Yet she's still afraid God is going to take her."

"And now I am subject to everyone's ridicule. Lovely."

"Oh, we're only teasing," said Luck. "I shouldn't make fun of you for that. But I should make fun of both of you for celebrating Jewish holidays when your beliefs are completely separate from Jewish ones."

"Well, Ma'd freak out if I didn't this year."

"I suppose I have no defense against you on that one," Alia sighed. "I find Judaism reasonable, though, so I practice it, and it happens to give me something in common with some of my favorite people. There are you, and Sudko, and the Martillos. Such kind people, they are- the Ristagno family as well. I simply adore them."

"Ristagno takes kindly to you. He wants me to take you to his New Year's dance next month."

"Is that so?" Luck nodded, then thought twice as he realized that she would not see him do so.

"It is. I'd also like it if you went with me."


	138. Rubber Bullets

"Does he behave so oddly at work?" Alia asked, her voice hushed so that it would not be found out she was in the company of Mister Tick. The man leaned in to hear more clearly, the gleam of the scissors feeling almost inches away.

"I dunno. He doesn't get weird in front of us, but in his office, it's different, and only Firo really goes in there. And Firo keeps his mouth shut." While speaking the man shrugged, the sharp tips almost meeting her throat as she backed away in just the slightest of measurements. By her disappointed face, he brought a thought to his mind. "He's been having me deal with more and more people, after Berga gets his hit in. From what the rumor says, there have been attacks inching closer and closer to here. Usually he has other people fight back, but he's been throwing his own punches as well. That's sort of different."

"It is nothing like what is happening at home, though.. It could be related, but the behavior itself is not like what he is doing at home."

"That's a good thing, then. If he was hitting you, it might not respect him so much," Tick said, trying to think again. "Just keep on your toes for work stress."

"Of course," she nodded, flinching as she heard a call for the man keeping her company. The man looked up from his tasks by Luck's call and shoved Alia into hiding before he could open the door and kick a middle-aged man into the small room. This stranger was bleeding practically everywhere, with a fat lip and eyes swollen so that he looked like an ill Boston Terrier. He was terrified and shaking with adrenaline as he screamed.

"Fuck you Gandor! Fuck all the Gandors! Why won't you just burn!" This man tried his feeble chance at escaping, apprehended by Luck without much needed effort. In fury only inches from release, he pulled his foe by the collar up to his face and barely kept from spitting.

"Going somewhere? As I remember, my guys were locked in their own warehouse with nowhere to go as you took wrecking balls to the place, and who was in the cab controlling the whole event as you laughed it up? Well, I gotta laugh in your face when I say, you're going nowhere." Tick sat quietly by and tried not to glance at Alia. In a moment, he had no difficulty doing so, looking toward one man with a hole in his chest and another with one in his shoulder. A writhing man fell to the ground and howled, clutching his shoulder.

"You okay?" asked Tick, looking toward the big, serious Luck Gandor still standing, his hand to his chest and a mouthful of blood dropping to the floor.

"Yeah," grunted the man. "Hurts like a bitch though.. There's the bullet." A sigh of relief revealed a bullet in his hand, let to the ground as he straightened himself out. "Take care of the rest." His cold steps exited, the door closed behind them. Tick let silence seal the room for a few seconds before slicing through his victim's carotid artery for a quick, though less enjoyable kill, and rushed to bring Alia out of hiding.

"You weren't supposed to see that," he whispered, pulling her off her knees and hurrying her through the door opposite the one Luck had used. In a dark room that looked like someone's office that went rarely used, there was one window, which he proceeded to open and attempt to shove her through. "Run and make sure you're not seen, and don't tell anyone what just happened or we're both dead as dead gets."

She followed his directions, taking a cab home. There, she stared at the telephone and awaited her own decision as to whether to confess the events to Sudko.


	139. The Young Laughter of an Old Voice

Sudko, having made good friends with the Ristagnos after taking over the Candela family, and being a friend of the Martillos as well as Luck and his family, had also been invited to the dance of New Year's Eve. This made everything quite comfortable, but for one fact.

In these dances, a man was judged not by the quality of his suit nor the proficiency of his step in dance, but by the treatment of the woman on his arm. Socially, this was a benefit for women, and made the dances a safe and enjoyable place to be for them, but for Alia, it put her in an ill pit of anxiety. Her stomach churned as she hung onto Luck and stayed quiet for fear she might embarrass him, only granted escape when Ristagno noticed her unease and beckoned her to sit in a chair against the wall with him.

"Now, young lady, you two can get away with it no longer. You're having troubles, and I simply won't allow it."

"I have not the slightest idea what the trouble is. Speaking with me will do no good, but it will be an appreciated comfort," she smiled politely as she spoke and obliged her hands to be held in the man's wrinkled ones.

"What do you know?"

"He is sorting his mind out. I am afraid it is something to do with me—something that disturbs him. I cannot tell," shame forced her head away. "For a while he would not speak to me at all. He only started up again after Hanukkah, but we took another step back, and here we are now, barely knowing each other. It feels so unnatural. Neither of us are especially shy, and never with each other."

"When a man sorts his mind out it's for everyone's good."

"If it is about me, though, and it disturbs him, I fear the results. He knows this. He tried to give me assurance that by the end of his sorting, he would still love me, but I cannot say I entirely trust this. People have a habit of overestimating themselves."

"I think you have a habit of underestimating people. If you really want him to love you by the end of this, all I can tell you is to love him, and show it. You might start, for one, by actually looking him in the eye when you speak with him, and perhaps, if the heavens allow, you could oh, I don't know, dance with the boy," his old, hoarse voice cooed the laughter of an elder, but it was still a very young laugh she had to admire, and so she nodded with the same courtesy tugging her cheeks up as she stood.

"Thank you," she said, inhaling deeply, her dark blue dress expanding in the belly while she looked toward Luck and his conversational partner across the room.


	140. Their Way of Speaking

"You're all alone."

"I'm with someone, though."

"Dods' little friend over there, right? The one you're staring at."

"Yeah," he said. "You know Sudko?"

"He sent me to speak with you. He's worried about her," the woman supported herself on one straight leg and sipped her champagne as she looked between Luck and his date.

"I'm worried too, and she seems worried."

"It's not on her face."

"It's in her hands. When she's worried, her hands are shier. Her gestures aren't as big. If she was explaining something she was more excited about, they'd be out here," Luck mimicked her type of movement, putting his hands out about two and a half feet apart as if he was holding a large object for someone else to see. "Maybe wider. They'd be up about the level her shoulders like this, and ready to thrust something into someone's face. That's why Ristagno's holding them. He grew up in Sicily so he knows how that way of speaking works, and he knows how to give her an excuse."

"What do you think she's talking about?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know what you think?"

"Well, I know what I think, but I don't know what she's talking about."

"So, tell me what you think," she said. "That's what I asked for."

"I think she's worried about the fact that we stopped talking again. We had stopped before and started back up but now.. Well, I don't know what happened, but about a week ago we stopped talking yet again. I don't even know if it was me or her that stopped first this time."

"Well, you could be the one that starts again first."

"I guess," Luck said, looking at Alia with something close to dread. "But if it was her that stopped first, I can't tell how she'll ever react." He kept himself from trying to flinch as he broke out of the concentration on the conversation and noticed that she was taking slow steps toward him. With a soft smile, he walked to meet her, holding his champagne glass near her face. "You know, Ristagno is said to have good taste in everything. Have a sip." She tipped the glass on her lip and tasted it, smiling a bit, until she furrowed her brow. "What's the matter?"

"Something seems wrong about being here, right now. It might go away, but right now is wrong."

"Then dance with me and we'll see if we can make it right."


	141. Years, Not Decades

**A/N: **Second to last chapter! It's fuckery. I don't even- What am I doing?

* * *

A smile crossed the features of both their faces as they danced. Simple remarks went here and there into the notes and steps, as he remarked that he was amazed she ever let him lead, and she made little comments on small things like the flawless condition of his aglets and the tasteful cologne on his pocket square, which matched the color of her dress.

Conversation died eventually as they became interested in a particular dance and took their time picking it back up. It allowed time to study each other, the people around them, and their surroundings, but mostly, vainly, themselves and their situations. Finally it was the countdown to midnight, when a new year would provide them with new smiles and new tears, and the world could look forward to another chance at ending the Depression. They kissed for the first time in a week, knowing it was also a new year for them to be together.

And then, they began to dance again.

They were speaking again, becoming louder and quieter as the music called, again speaking of nothing but thinking of everything. It itched violently at their insides, everything did, sneering cruelly at the skin ready to break. Finally, it did.

"When you stated your age, I thought your unit was years, not decades."

Nothing prepared him for their first violent act as a couple. Her hand met his cheek harshly, and the pain resonated through his every nerve. Hormones rushed through his body and emotion began to distract from the physical pain and add its own brand of shame, worry, and sorrow. The music came to an abrupt halt and eyes turned toward him, craving a hit back so that they would have someone to be angry with, but he stood and straightened himself in posture, wishing he was also free of bends internally.

"Alia, I—" With his step forward she took one back with her empty expression and alert eyes.

"If you dare take another inch out of this space I swear to god I will devour you," her voice shook as she looked him up and down, he jumped in shock.

"You.. You know? How did you find this out? When?" She refused to answer as she made her way out, him not daring to follow as Sudko did. "Hell…"

Coming home, he found that all of her belongings were gone but for a painting of her in that metal bathtub. One of his own photographs was gone, in which the two of them had managed to smile despite, as he remembered, the fact that they had been fighting just before the picture being taken.

The next week, he took a chance in visiting Clay and Sudko's apartment, only to find that, too, entirely empty, furniture and all. At seeing this, he determined that it truly mattered not the result once he had really sorted himself. She had sorted the both of them, and he knew his place. His place was walking the concrete streets of New York City, and hers, just perhaps, was currently floating on the sea.


	142. Trail of Red

White dominated after a millennium. After technology and medicine took a sudden and rapid evolution, people became more and more obsessed with cleanliness. The company which offered this was called Clear Company.

Conspiracy theories would go around that the company had taken over politics entirely with only a façade of borders. People made it out to be a bad thing, but Luck thought back without qualm on the past few warless centuries. No, he had no complaints. He simply wondered what they did. They made cars, he thought once, until he found they made computers, as well as food, and even soap. Everything seemed controlled by the company. Again, he had no complaints, as confused as he was. At least it was keeping the world fed, and crime rates were surprisingly low, or at least not spoken of.

The only issue he did have, and it was minor, was the overbearing force of plain, clear white. Everyone dyed their hair the shade, and wore the shade. Even the buildings and pavement wore it. All the clothing fit the form of women, although men were a bit freer with the leeway of their fabrics. It took a few decades to get used to it, but he was alright with it, aside from the fact that everyone was compelled to be styled this way, and he had no idea why. He could only blame it on Clear Company.

This was easy to overlook, however. Something told him uniformity would help him to notice the beautiful peculiarities with hues more vivid in contrast to the all-over sterile look of complete and utter white. One of these was the faceless voice of the company that appeared in all the commercials that were useless, seeing as few people really had a choice in whether or not they bought from them, but probably there to be friendly and avoid the assassination of an owner.

It was a familiar voice to him, though he supposed that hundreds of years of hearing it would make it seem so. It was household and universal, and had been exactly the same. A computer was the speaker, quite obviously, but it still sounded natural, and like nectar, only thicker. In all the harsh brightness of the world, it offered something soft and rich. Indeed, it was something beautiful in the blank city where rugged New York used to be.

Somewhere in the currents of humans on the sidewalks he was navigating, passed a long stream saturated with red-orange. It caught eyes very quickly; many surprised, and not always pleased. He himself was shocked to find that this streak of color was a woman's hair, which was red on its own but had an even redder scarf tied into it. The length, color, and display of her hair were daring enough, but the scarf really had people calling her showy. On the other hand, he appreciated it, following the trail to its source and finding the woman he looked at very short. As he recognized her step, he called.

"Alia."

She turned to face him as he stepped into the space between the flows of people so as not to disrupt the movement of the crowds. The woman did the same to take her chance studying him with two big blue circles, in which were little dark blue spots that he, as much as he used to hate them, had craved for a thousand years. It was definitely her, and in her eyes, it was definitely him. Suddenly he was nervous. Her face, as colorful as it was, was blank of expression, as it had been the day she ran away, and she looked ready to run once again. It seemed this would be only a stray encounter.

But as she turned out to run forward, he questioned how something so magical could have been only anything.


End file.
